Ookawa
Musoka
Simple Unicycle
Plank SinatraHe fought for humanity.
There was little ambition he had aside from that. Aside from that rather straightforward and even generic goal he had, he was a person, like any other.
Whenever he passed by the hangar, he would want to meet his friends.
Whenever training was over, he would want to grab a snack and relax.
He had those thoughts, too.
And he knew he wasn’t the only one, so that was why he fought.
He was sure that others thought similarly as well.
An iron gargantuan made its way past the debris.
Ashes filled the air, painting the world a gloomy orange. Whereas orange would often be correlated with an afternoon sky in the past, now there was simply nothing but the same color. It painted the destroyed cement in the form of dust and ashes, marking almost the entirety of the land as inhabitable.
Time before the Quantum Cataclysm had since been deemed unrecognizably useless, as there wasn’t much left of humanity in the first place. The quick-witted had been the ones to survive the dimensional breach in the atmosphere as invaders in the appearance of iron monsters appeared shortly afterwards.
The GRIMM Threat, as many called them.
Sleek, yet bulky, the tall machination floated past the remains of Vacuo. There wasn’t much to be lost in Vacuo in terms of environment, really- only the people were its true value, and they no longer inhabited the land.
A single three story building would be of even height with the machine. Inside the mech, a single radio crackled, void of presence to the outer world.
“The feedback’s getting stronger,” the voice said. It appeared to belong to a young woman, her tone calm yet precise. “Take a turn to your left.”
Behind the mech, a large city stood from a distance, once the home of Shade Academy. In front stood a small canyon jutting out of the desert. Within the canyon was an entrance to a mine.
“Grab whatever Dust you can,” the voice told him once more. “Remember, Oak, the goal isn’t to search and destroy- your top priority is extracting as much Dust as possible and getting out of there safely, as the GRIMM can tear this place down at any moment.”
The man began inputting several commands to the mech, sitting within the complex control deck surrounding him. Metal slid out behind the seat of the deck as it began encasing the man in a light set of armor, as well as equipping him with life support. From two sides, metal surrounded his face as a helmet soon formed, its visor sleek and masking any sign of his human face.
“Understood.”
Humanity wasn’t what the GRIMM needed- it was what they wanted.
The chest of the mech opened as he soon emerged, a heavy rifle in hand. As a set of stairs formed down to the sand beneath him, Trad Oak walked down and soon set foot on Vacuo.
Stepping into the cave entrance, Trad wasted no time- little, if he did at all.
Cold air greeted him as he went deeper into the cave. The logo of the SDC passed by him, along with a single bony hand attempting to claw its way out of the cave. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that the SDC had actually contributed towards elevating the dire circumstances of Remnant through their poor management of the mining sites at the time of destruction. A fat lot of help having Faunus workers ended up being, considering nobody had been responsible enough to secure the Dust to some form of authority at the very least.
He hadn’t become a Huntsman for no reason, though. Cleaning up the mess of the past and destroying the obstacles of the present- that much, he understood as his duties. For these duties would ultimately protect the powerless and frightened.
Was he frightened? Of course he was. A few Huntsmen also extracting Dust at Vale were reported to have been torn apart not too long ago. Ironic, considering he initially preferred the idea of heading to Vale first.
Ms. Cirsium had objected at Lionheart’s suggestion of sending Huntsmen to Vale, stating that much of the GRIMM there were far more dangerous than the ones at Vacuo and Mistral. A compromise had eventually been made between Ms. Cirsium, Lionheart, and Ironwood- one of the leaders of the Huntsmen- to send Huntsmen to both Vale and Vacuo. More had been sent to Vale, though many returned injured or outright shocked to the point of danger.
That was to say that there weren’t many who returned in the first place.
A light flickered on beside his visor, several canisters contained within the two Dust cases he brought with him. He needed to be fast.
By the time natural light had faded, Trad began seeing old lightbulbs dangling on the ceiling, though many of them were shattered on the ground. He had been going on a downward slope for quite some time, so there should be a visible mining site soon…
A few minutes later, Trad froze as he made sure he was looking at things right.
“Bingo,” he muttered to himself as he intensified the flashlight.
A massive mining site greeted him, wide and full of cart rails all towards a now defunct Dust storage container. It was like a giant cavern, with a whole lot of nothing. But he knew that veins of Dust would be hiding within the area. The platform he stood on was probably where the SDC employees used to stand on.
“Beginning extraction,” he spoke to the radio. Taking the stairs down to the area full of rails, he headed to one of the tunnels.
Red Dust. A common, but valuable Dust for its heated properties. This was his third extraction mission, and quite honestly the entire experience was still nerve-racking. Training had been rather intense, but missions weren’t just intense- they were often intense enough to get you killed, and it’s not because people wanted you dead. This had to be the highest amount of natural Dust veins he had seen so far, however.
Placing one of the canisters on a large Red Dust vein, he set aside his rifle and inputted a code, prompting the canister to latch onto the vein. Ms. Cirsium had pointed out to always attach the canister away from any entrances if possible, though it often got confusing when the Dust veins started to have weird shapes.
Picking his weapon up again, he left the tunnel. As nice as it’d be to watch the Dust all trickle down into the canister from crystals to powder, that was literally the equivalent of watching a more exciting version of paint drying. He needed to get all the Dust he could, unless he wanted to end up like the guy who returned to mother base in several pieces.
Another tunnel contained Blue Dust, and another with Yellow Dust. When he reached the fourth tunnel, however, he blinked as he found a floating Dust vein.
This had to be Gravity Dust. As many as there were back in Atlas, these things were pretty crucial to their Semblances. Yeah, sure, flying was cool and all, but you didn’t want your mech to suddenly lose juice and plummet you into a horde of unsuspecting GRIMM.
Latching a canister onto the Gravity Dust vein, Trad picked up his rifle.
Click.
He halted abruptly, his breathing going shallow as he felt his throat tighten, turning off the flashlight as quickly as possible.
Click.
A single red light shone past the tunnel. Glancing behind him, Trad took a step back. When his footsteps proved to be rather quiet, he took the risk and retreated more.
Come on, come on…
His tough luck- of all places, he had to be surrounded by Gravity Dust veins just floating around him! But their footsteps were pretty loud, so maybe if he timed it just right…
He knew it was a dumb idea, but whatever. He’d heard of people do crazier things than him, though he wasn’t sure if they survived or not.
They were getting closer…
One… two…
Another footstep. He had to do it now.
Leaping onto one of the veins with his rifle on his back, he took out two all-terrain knives as he slammed it into both a vein and a wall close to him. Much to his fright, the vein shook… but did not go any further. He made sure to bring the vein close enough to the wall to shield all of his body.
The footsteps stopped briefly.
So did his breathing.
The last thing he needed here was the radio crackling to life to scare him, or the sound of firepower being sent at his direction.
…He did make sure that all canisters were looking away from the tunnels, right?
Maybe.
His life would prove it.
Much to his surprise and relief, the footsteps started growing distant, and the red light began to die.
Remaining still for one whole minute, Trad did not move an inch.
“Oak? You’ve been dead frozen for a minute now. Is everything fine?”
Trad nearly jumped at the voice. Thankfully, it was Ms. Cirsium’s voice. Had it been, say, Peter Port’s voice, he might’ve just fallen off the Gravity Dust chunk immediately.
“Yes, Ms. Cirsium,” he responded. “Just, uh… avoiding some mishaps.”
A brief pause came from Ms. Cirsium, though it seemed that she was quick to catch on. “Get out of there as soon as you can, Trad,” she spoke rather urgently. “The Dust is important, but your life is far more important. We don’t need people being idiotically brave-hearted and getting themselves killed.”
As he steadily got off the Dust chunk, he pulled the knives out as he glanced at the Dust canister.
“Stay on your toes, and give me a heads-up if you happen to confront the GRIMM at any point.”
Putting away the knives, Trad took out his rifle again as he quietly walked around the Dust he had latched himself onto.
Kneeling over one of the Dust canisters, a dark figure covered in ashes that constantly puffed out of itself fiddled with the canister he had placed earlier.
Trad’s eyes widened as the figure jerked its head around, its red eyes glaring straight into his.
Without any warning, he pulled the trigger, blasting its head right off.
“I think things are gonna be rather shaky, Ms. Cirsium!” Trad shouted in his helmet, quickly unlatching the Dust canister. Three-fourths of it had been filled up. “GRIMM’s right in front of me!”
“Leave the mining site!” Ms. Cirsium spoke, almost as if it was an obvious thing. “Don’t do anything stupid- secure yourself for departure first.”
Gladly!
Running out of the tunnel, Trad took out a hook shot as he analyzed his surroundings. Two of the ash-covered figures turned straight at his direction as they revealed their long fingers. As subtle as they looked, those were the same claws that Oswald told him to be careful of before. Reason being?
Well, those guys who came back in several pieces didn’t do that to themselves, obviously.
Launching the hook shot at the root of a stalagmite, Trad began running as the two GRIMM pilots rushed over to him at a frightening pace, their movements jerky and unnatural. He pulled the trigger, pulling him straight out of their clutch as they simultaneously attempted to slice him apart from both sides.
As soon as he reached the stalagmite, with all of his strength, he kicked the very protruding terrain he had latched onto before firing his hook shot again to make sure he didn’t land like a flattened bug. The sharp thing fell straight on one of the pilots, impaling the pilot from the head through its stomach. As Trad descended while flying towards one of the tunnels, he took out his rifle and opened fire on the remaining pilot.
Moving to the side quickly, the remaining GRIMM pilot raised an arm as it fire a ball of magma straight at him. His eyes widened as he pulled one of the hook shot’s triggers, causing it to let go from the terrain it had been stuck to. Tumbling as he got back on his footing, he put away his rifle as he hid behind an empty Dust rock near the Fire Dust tunnel.
Taking a deep breath, Trad took out a sleek blade and a small handle, occupying both of his hands. Leaping out of the rock, Trad activated the handle, creating a large kite shield composed of Lightning Dust. He held the large Gravity Dust canister with his shield arm.
The GRIMM pilot let no roars or the kind- it simply stared at Trad, devoid of emotions he could discern. It lashed out eventually, claws first.
Raising his shield, he let the claws weigh down on him before he lifted the GRIMM pilot up. With a small push, he moved his shield away and kicked the pilot across the mining cavern. He then made a beeline towards the Red Dust tunnel and unlatched the canister.
The canisters were huge and were seriously meant to be attached to the Dust cases, but he had no time to lose. As the GRIMM pilot got up, Trad rushed up the stairs and began making a run for it.
As natural light began to show up, so did his tension. The pilot was faster than him, though he had his hook shot to give him boosts of speed when he needed it. Eventually, he burst out of the mining site entrance and ran up the stairs of his Semblance.
Tossing the canisters into the control room, he smashed the docking button as the stairs were pulled away quickly, and the Semblance’s chest began to close.
“System online,” a monotone voice echoed in the mech, “Svalinn Root- combat active.”
Retaining its crouched form, Trad forced the mech to activate its rockets, pushing itself away from the mining site. There was no GRIMM at the surface, meaning that…
In an ear-deafening entrance, the mining site blew apart as a monstrous mech appeared, its appearance beastly and inhumane. Trad took several short breaths as he watched the monster advance towards him.
Beowolf.
A common GRIMM. As common as it was, only a few of them were needed to tear down Vale’s capital.
Getting up from its crouched position, Svalinn Root assumed a standing combat stance as it continued to rocket away from the Beowulf GRIMM. And as soon as it stood, it began firing at the enemy mech with raw firepower. Twin heavy rotary cannons caused a bullet storm as the GRIMM advanced, shrugging off most of the damage.
Trad hastily changed the mech’s grounded status to an all-range mode. Ascending up to the air, Svalinn Root continued to fire before it turned and blasted straight into the skies.
The GRIMM, too, soared into the skies, its monstrous shape turning into that of a triangular ship.
It’s only one, Trad thought to himself. I need to get rid of this thing before I head to the base.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to leave. It’s just that this thing was far too close for him to safely activate hyperdrive and just leave the place for good. He needed to deal with it as soon as possible.
Turning around in the air, Svalinn Root began firing at the ship with one rotary cannon, creating a larger version of the shield he had used earlier on the other hand of the mech.
The ship maneuvered wildly, only a few bullets scratching its surface as it fired bolts of magma-like substance at Trad’s mech. Svalinn Root strafed to the right as it raised its shield, letting the magma bounce off its Thunder Dust shield as it continued to fire its rotary cannon. Bullets lit the orange skies of Vacuo as the ones that missed punched the sandy grounds with small holes and unknown magma.
The GRIMM’s patience soon ran out as it eventually morphed back into its Beowulf form, leaping straight onto Svalinn Root’s shield. Ignoring the damage it was receiving from the shield, the GRIMM began clawing wildly, attempting to attack around the shield and damage the mech itself.
It’s trying to bring me down to the ground first, Trad realized instantly.
He needed to stay in the air to survive. This much, he knew. He wasn’t going to let a single GRIMM bring him down.
Let’s do this.
As the Beowulf managed to tear off chunks of Svalinn Root’s shield arm’s armor, Svalinn Root’s cannon arm morphed into that of a regular one. It then pulled out a giant sword from its back, its edges lit with a serene green that contrasted to the orange all around him.
Smashing the Beowulf off his shield, Svalinn Root charged towards the Beowulf in the skies. The Beowulf, maintaining its monstrous form rather than morph into its more compact self, remained in the skies, fire blasting out of his back as it extended its black metal claws.
At the very moment the Beowulf lunged one of its in attempt to hit Trad’s head around the shield, Trad suddenly turned off Svalinn Root’s shield, instead turning the mech’s head ever so slightly. The GRIMM’s claw ended up scratching the side of the mech’s head.
Gritting his teeth, Trad had Svalinn Root pull its former shield arm back before driving it straight into the GRIMM mech’s chest. The GRIMM pilot had to be inside the head, unlike his Semblance.
Svalinn Root’s engine roared as the blade it held glowed brighter. Its form began to extend as it revealed a Dust core, containing five Thunder crystals loaded into it as lightning began to crackle down the mech’s arm.
As the mech raised the GRIMM up, Trad roared, “Eat THIS!”
Pulling its shield arm out of the GRIMM, Svalinn Root twisted as it kicked the GRIMM straight forward into the skies. Before the GRIMM had a chance to retaliate, Svalinn Root’s rocket boots throttled to maximum performance as it rocketed towards the enemy, its blade raised behind itself.
With a single, vertical, upward slash, Svalinn Root cleaved the Beowulf in half.
The skies were lit with a single explosion that covered both mechs. And out of it, only Trad emerged, his mech partially damaged.
Taking a deep breath, Trad sighed. He then spoke to the radio,
“Leaving the extraction point with a Red Dust canister and a Gravity Dust canister. Heading to Atlas now.”
“Do you have any injuries that need treatment?” He heard Ms. Cirsium speak from the radio.
He glanced at his body, raising an eyebrow before he muttered, “I think I have a head ache.”
The radio went silent for a moment before Ms. Cirsium responded rather amusedly, “Well, it’s good to hear that it’s no worse than that.”
As Svalinn Root exited combat mode and began to charge up its hyperdrive, it remained still in the air.
The skies were still bleak, and he was certain this wasn’t going to be the last time he visits Vacuo. They always would, eventually. What mattered was how much more experience he got from these missions, as well as trying to survive.
There was a time when the skies were stated to be blue, and he lived only when he didn’t remember those skies. But hell, nobody told him to not want to see it- cause he really wanted to. Maybe he would.
After all, he probably wasn’t the only one who wanted to.
“Good work, Trad,” Ms. Cirsium told him as he left the area.
There was little ambition he had aside from that. Aside from that rather straightforward and even generic goal he had, he was a person, like any other.
Whenever he passed by the hangar, he would want to meet his friends.
Whenever training was over, he would want to grab a snack and relax.
He had those thoughts, too.
And he knew he wasn’t the only one, so that was why he fought.
He was sure that others thought similarly as well.
An iron gargantuan made its way past the debris.
Ashes filled the air, painting the world a gloomy orange. Whereas orange would often be correlated with an afternoon sky in the past, now there was simply nothing but the same color. It painted the destroyed cement in the form of dust and ashes, marking almost the entirety of the land as inhabitable.
Time before the Quantum Cataclysm had since been deemed unrecognizably useless, as there wasn’t much left of humanity in the first place. The quick-witted had been the ones to survive the dimensional breach in the atmosphere as invaders in the appearance of iron monsters appeared shortly afterwards.
The GRIMM Threat, as many called them.
Sleek, yet bulky, the tall machination floated past the remains of Vacuo. There wasn’t much to be lost in Vacuo in terms of environment, really- only the people were its true value, and they no longer inhabited the land.
A single three story building would be of even height with the machine. Inside the mech, a single radio crackled, void of presence to the outer world.
“The feedback’s getting stronger,” the voice said. It appeared to belong to a young woman, her tone calm yet precise. “Take a turn to your left.”
Behind the mech, a large city stood from a distance, once the home of Shade Academy. In front stood a small canyon jutting out of the desert. Within the canyon was an entrance to a mine.
“Grab whatever Dust you can,” the voice told him once more. “Remember, Oak, the goal isn’t to search and destroy- your top priority is extracting as much Dust as possible and getting out of there safely, as the GRIMM can tear this place down at any moment.”
The man began inputting several commands to the mech, sitting within the complex control deck surrounding him. Metal slid out behind the seat of the deck as it began encasing the man in a light set of armor, as well as equipping him with life support. From two sides, metal surrounded his face as a helmet soon formed, its visor sleek and masking any sign of his human face.
“Understood.”
Humanity wasn’t what the GRIMM needed- it was what they wanted.
The chest of the mech opened as he soon emerged, a heavy rifle in hand. As a set of stairs formed down to the sand beneath him, Trad Oak walked down and soon set foot on Vacuo.
Stepping into the cave entrance, Trad wasted no time- little, if he did at all.
Cold air greeted him as he went deeper into the cave. The logo of the SDC passed by him, along with a single bony hand attempting to claw its way out of the cave. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that the SDC had actually contributed towards elevating the dire circumstances of Remnant through their poor management of the mining sites at the time of destruction. A fat lot of help having Faunus workers ended up being, considering nobody had been responsible enough to secure the Dust to some form of authority at the very least.
He hadn’t become a Huntsman for no reason, though. Cleaning up the mess of the past and destroying the obstacles of the present- that much, he understood as his duties. For these duties would ultimately protect the powerless and frightened.
Was he frightened? Of course he was. A few Huntsmen also extracting Dust at Vale were reported to have been torn apart not too long ago. Ironic, considering he initially preferred the idea of heading to Vale first.
Ms. Cirsium had objected at Lionheart’s suggestion of sending Huntsmen to Vale, stating that much of the GRIMM there were far more dangerous than the ones at Vacuo and Mistral. A compromise had eventually been made between Ms. Cirsium, Lionheart, and Ironwood- one of the leaders of the Huntsmen- to send Huntsmen to both Vale and Vacuo. More had been sent to Vale, though many returned injured or outright shocked to the point of danger.
That was to say that there weren’t many who returned in the first place.
A light flickered on beside his visor, several canisters contained within the two Dust cases he brought with him. He needed to be fast.
By the time natural light had faded, Trad began seeing old lightbulbs dangling on the ceiling, though many of them were shattered on the ground. He had been going on a downward slope for quite some time, so there should be a visible mining site soon…
A few minutes later, Trad froze as he made sure he was looking at things right.
“Bingo,” he muttered to himself as he intensified the flashlight.
A massive mining site greeted him, wide and full of cart rails all towards a now defunct Dust storage container. It was like a giant cavern, with a whole lot of nothing. But he knew that veins of Dust would be hiding within the area. The platform he stood on was probably where the SDC employees used to stand on.
“Beginning extraction,” he spoke to the radio. Taking the stairs down to the area full of rails, he headed to one of the tunnels.
Red Dust. A common, but valuable Dust for its heated properties. This was his third extraction mission, and quite honestly the entire experience was still nerve-racking. Training had been rather intense, but missions weren’t just intense- they were often intense enough to get you killed, and it’s not because people wanted you dead. This had to be the highest amount of natural Dust veins he had seen so far, however.
Placing one of the canisters on a large Red Dust vein, he set aside his rifle and inputted a code, prompting the canister to latch onto the vein. Ms. Cirsium had pointed out to always attach the canister away from any entrances if possible, though it often got confusing when the Dust veins started to have weird shapes.
Picking his weapon up again, he left the tunnel. As nice as it’d be to watch the Dust all trickle down into the canister from crystals to powder, that was literally the equivalent of watching a more exciting version of paint drying. He needed to get all the Dust he could, unless he wanted to end up like the guy who returned to mother base in several pieces.
Another tunnel contained Blue Dust, and another with Yellow Dust. When he reached the fourth tunnel, however, he blinked as he found a floating Dust vein.
This had to be Gravity Dust. As many as there were back in Atlas, these things were pretty crucial to their Semblances. Yeah, sure, flying was cool and all, but you didn’t want your mech to suddenly lose juice and plummet you into a horde of unsuspecting GRIMM.
Latching a canister onto the Gravity Dust vein, Trad picked up his rifle.
Click.
He halted abruptly, his breathing going shallow as he felt his throat tighten, turning off the flashlight as quickly as possible.
Click.
A single red light shone past the tunnel. Glancing behind him, Trad took a step back. When his footsteps proved to be rather quiet, he took the risk and retreated more.
Come on, come on…
His tough luck- of all places, he had to be surrounded by Gravity Dust veins just floating around him! But their footsteps were pretty loud, so maybe if he timed it just right…
He knew it was a dumb idea, but whatever. He’d heard of people do crazier things than him, though he wasn’t sure if they survived or not.
They were getting closer…
One… two…
Another footstep. He had to do it now.
Leaping onto one of the veins with his rifle on his back, he took out two all-terrain knives as he slammed it into both a vein and a wall close to him. Much to his fright, the vein shook… but did not go any further. He made sure to bring the vein close enough to the wall to shield all of his body.
The footsteps stopped briefly.
So did his breathing.
The last thing he needed here was the radio crackling to life to scare him, or the sound of firepower being sent at his direction.
…He did make sure that all canisters were looking away from the tunnels, right?
Maybe.
His life would prove it.
Much to his surprise and relief, the footsteps started growing distant, and the red light began to die.
Remaining still for one whole minute, Trad did not move an inch.
“Oak? You’ve been dead frozen for a minute now. Is everything fine?”
Trad nearly jumped at the voice. Thankfully, it was Ms. Cirsium’s voice. Had it been, say, Peter Port’s voice, he might’ve just fallen off the Gravity Dust chunk immediately.
“Yes, Ms. Cirsium,” he responded. “Just, uh… avoiding some mishaps.”
A brief pause came from Ms. Cirsium, though it seemed that she was quick to catch on. “Get out of there as soon as you can, Trad,” she spoke rather urgently. “The Dust is important, but your life is far more important. We don’t need people being idiotically brave-hearted and getting themselves killed.”
As he steadily got off the Dust chunk, he pulled the knives out as he glanced at the Dust canister.
“Stay on your toes, and give me a heads-up if you happen to confront the GRIMM at any point.”
Putting away the knives, Trad took out his rifle again as he quietly walked around the Dust he had latched himself onto.
Kneeling over one of the Dust canisters, a dark figure covered in ashes that constantly puffed out of itself fiddled with the canister he had placed earlier.
Trad’s eyes widened as the figure jerked its head around, its red eyes glaring straight into his.
Without any warning, he pulled the trigger, blasting its head right off.
“I think things are gonna be rather shaky, Ms. Cirsium!” Trad shouted in his helmet, quickly unlatching the Dust canister. Three-fourths of it had been filled up. “GRIMM’s right in front of me!”
“Leave the mining site!” Ms. Cirsium spoke, almost as if it was an obvious thing. “Don’t do anything stupid- secure yourself for departure first.”
Gladly!
Running out of the tunnel, Trad took out a hook shot as he analyzed his surroundings. Two of the ash-covered figures turned straight at his direction as they revealed their long fingers. As subtle as they looked, those were the same claws that Oswald told him to be careful of before. Reason being?
Well, those guys who came back in several pieces didn’t do that to themselves, obviously.
Launching the hook shot at the root of a stalagmite, Trad began running as the two GRIMM pilots rushed over to him at a frightening pace, their movements jerky and unnatural. He pulled the trigger, pulling him straight out of their clutch as they simultaneously attempted to slice him apart from both sides.
As soon as he reached the stalagmite, with all of his strength, he kicked the very protruding terrain he had latched onto before firing his hook shot again to make sure he didn’t land like a flattened bug. The sharp thing fell straight on one of the pilots, impaling the pilot from the head through its stomach. As Trad descended while flying towards one of the tunnels, he took out his rifle and opened fire on the remaining pilot.
Moving to the side quickly, the remaining GRIMM pilot raised an arm as it fire a ball of magma straight at him. His eyes widened as he pulled one of the hook shot’s triggers, causing it to let go from the terrain it had been stuck to. Tumbling as he got back on his footing, he put away his rifle as he hid behind an empty Dust rock near the Fire Dust tunnel.
Taking a deep breath, Trad took out a sleek blade and a small handle, occupying both of his hands. Leaping out of the rock, Trad activated the handle, creating a large kite shield composed of Lightning Dust. He held the large Gravity Dust canister with his shield arm.
The GRIMM pilot let no roars or the kind- it simply stared at Trad, devoid of emotions he could discern. It lashed out eventually, claws first.
Raising his shield, he let the claws weigh down on him before he lifted the GRIMM pilot up. With a small push, he moved his shield away and kicked the pilot across the mining cavern. He then made a beeline towards the Red Dust tunnel and unlatched the canister.
The canisters were huge and were seriously meant to be attached to the Dust cases, but he had no time to lose. As the GRIMM pilot got up, Trad rushed up the stairs and began making a run for it.
As natural light began to show up, so did his tension. The pilot was faster than him, though he had his hook shot to give him boosts of speed when he needed it. Eventually, he burst out of the mining site entrance and ran up the stairs of his Semblance.
Tossing the canisters into the control room, he smashed the docking button as the stairs were pulled away quickly, and the Semblance’s chest began to close.
“System online,” a monotone voice echoed in the mech, “Svalinn Root- combat active.”
Retaining its crouched form, Trad forced the mech to activate its rockets, pushing itself away from the mining site. There was no GRIMM at the surface, meaning that…
In an ear-deafening entrance, the mining site blew apart as a monstrous mech appeared, its appearance beastly and inhumane. Trad took several short breaths as he watched the monster advance towards him.
Beowolf.
A common GRIMM. As common as it was, only a few of them were needed to tear down Vale’s capital.
Getting up from its crouched position, Svalinn Root assumed a standing combat stance as it continued to rocket away from the Beowulf GRIMM. And as soon as it stood, it began firing at the enemy mech with raw firepower. Twin heavy rotary cannons caused a bullet storm as the GRIMM advanced, shrugging off most of the damage.
Trad hastily changed the mech’s grounded status to an all-range mode. Ascending up to the air, Svalinn Root continued to fire before it turned and blasted straight into the skies.
The GRIMM, too, soared into the skies, its monstrous shape turning into that of a triangular ship.
It’s only one, Trad thought to himself. I need to get rid of this thing before I head to the base.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to leave. It’s just that this thing was far too close for him to safely activate hyperdrive and just leave the place for good. He needed to deal with it as soon as possible.
Turning around in the air, Svalinn Root began firing at the ship with one rotary cannon, creating a larger version of the shield he had used earlier on the other hand of the mech.
The ship maneuvered wildly, only a few bullets scratching its surface as it fired bolts of magma-like substance at Trad’s mech. Svalinn Root strafed to the right as it raised its shield, letting the magma bounce off its Thunder Dust shield as it continued to fire its rotary cannon. Bullets lit the orange skies of Vacuo as the ones that missed punched the sandy grounds with small holes and unknown magma.
The GRIMM’s patience soon ran out as it eventually morphed back into its Beowulf form, leaping straight onto Svalinn Root’s shield. Ignoring the damage it was receiving from the shield, the GRIMM began clawing wildly, attempting to attack around the shield and damage the mech itself.
It’s trying to bring me down to the ground first, Trad realized instantly.
He needed to stay in the air to survive. This much, he knew. He wasn’t going to let a single GRIMM bring him down.
Let’s do this.
As the Beowulf managed to tear off chunks of Svalinn Root’s shield arm’s armor, Svalinn Root’s cannon arm morphed into that of a regular one. It then pulled out a giant sword from its back, its edges lit with a serene green that contrasted to the orange all around him.
Smashing the Beowulf off his shield, Svalinn Root charged towards the Beowulf in the skies. The Beowulf, maintaining its monstrous form rather than morph into its more compact self, remained in the skies, fire blasting out of his back as it extended its black metal claws.
At the very moment the Beowulf lunged one of its in attempt to hit Trad’s head around the shield, Trad suddenly turned off Svalinn Root’s shield, instead turning the mech’s head ever so slightly. The GRIMM’s claw ended up scratching the side of the mech’s head.
Gritting his teeth, Trad had Svalinn Root pull its former shield arm back before driving it straight into the GRIMM mech’s chest. The GRIMM pilot had to be inside the head, unlike his Semblance.
Svalinn Root’s engine roared as the blade it held glowed brighter. Its form began to extend as it revealed a Dust core, containing five Thunder crystals loaded into it as lightning began to crackle down the mech’s arm.
As the mech raised the GRIMM up, Trad roared, “Eat THIS!”
Pulling its shield arm out of the GRIMM, Svalinn Root twisted as it kicked the GRIMM straight forward into the skies. Before the GRIMM had a chance to retaliate, Svalinn Root’s rocket boots throttled to maximum performance as it rocketed towards the enemy, its blade raised behind itself.
With a single, vertical, upward slash, Svalinn Root cleaved the Beowulf in half.
The skies were lit with a single explosion that covered both mechs. And out of it, only Trad emerged, his mech partially damaged.
Taking a deep breath, Trad sighed. He then spoke to the radio,
“Leaving the extraction point with a Red Dust canister and a Gravity Dust canister. Heading to Atlas now.”
“Do you have any injuries that need treatment?” He heard Ms. Cirsium speak from the radio.
He glanced at his body, raising an eyebrow before he muttered, “I think I have a head ache.”
The radio went silent for a moment before Ms. Cirsium responded rather amusedly, “Well, it’s good to hear that it’s no worse than that.”
As Svalinn Root exited combat mode and began to charge up its hyperdrive, it remained still in the air.
The skies were still bleak, and he was certain this wasn’t going to be the last time he visits Vacuo. They always would, eventually. What mattered was how much more experience he got from these missions, as well as trying to survive.
There was a time when the skies were stated to be blue, and he lived only when he didn’t remember those skies. But hell, nobody told him to not want to see it- cause he really wanted to. Maybe he would.
After all, he probably wasn’t the only one who wanted to.
“Good work, Trad,” Ms. Cirsium told him as he left the area.
