ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF DISTRICT 10.
PORT YOSEN
"I hate this place."
The battlefield is a terrifying place.
"I want to go home."
It's a cruel summit that does nothing but take and take.
"I'm sorry, Anna."
Gunshots rang out left and right, the blast of explosions and the mechanical whirring of standard mechs echoing in the air, and in the midst of that chaos, was a lone soldier running in a broken mech.
The screech of monsters echoed across the battlefield as blasts of tempest and crimson energy tore through the air, slicing effortlessly through the mechs as if they had never existed. The energy burned through the battleground, leaving only destruction in its wake.
"I'll make it home, Tina," a voice murmured, the pilot gripping the controls of his machine tightly as he desperately tried to retreat to the rear lines. "Just you wait. Your big brother will be there soon—"
"Alpha 729 is down! All remaining units, push forward! The enemy forces are dwindling!" a voice crackled over the comms, delivering a directive to every soldier that could hear.
The battlefield was a horrible place. He had lost so many friends here, so much of his family. Within these cursed lands, dreams were shattered and discarded into blood-soaked ditches. And though he despised this place with every fiber of his being, he couldn't leave, not yet.
Gripping the controls, his mech darted backward, the blaster aimed at one of the pursuing monsters. A single shot of energy tore through the creature, killing it instantly. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
The enemy forces might have thinned, but the grim reality was that their numbers now matched those of the soldiers. Unlike the tired soldiers stranded in damaged mechs and desperate for refueling, the monstrous threat had no need for ammunition or rest.
He tapped the button again, but nothing happened—he was out of ammo. A monster cloaked in gray lunged toward him. Quickly, he extended the mech's hands, holding the creature at arm's length. Yet as the monster clawed and tore at the machine, its already fragile durability crumbled further into ruin.
He couldn't die now.
Not before he got his revenge.
The monster's claws raked against the cockpit, piercing through the armor and grazing his face. Blood spilled onto his lap as pain seared across his skin.
Acting fast, he trapped the creature in a hold, his hands darting to the lever above him, the self destruct button. With a swift pull, he ejected from the machine, hurtling to safety.
In the barracks, two things were drilled into every soldier's mind: one, you are nothing without your mech, and two, you should take pride in dying on the battlefield. What a load of bullshit.
Running through an onslaught of broken mechanical pieces and fried clumps of flesh with a gun in hand. Behind him, his mech erupted into a fiery explosion, the blast pushing him onto the floor, once again grasping the entirety of the battlefield before him.
"Alpha 700, down!"
"Alpha 558, down!"
"Alpha 796 down!"
Before him, his teammates fell like flies, their bodies torn apart, their blood soaking the battlefield and choking the air. He clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing back the rising urge to vomit.
He had to keep moving. If he could just reach the rear, maybe—just maybe—he could find safety. Deserting the battlefield before a retreat was ordered was a grave offense, but that was the least of his concerns now. Survival was all that mattered.
His arms flailed as he sprinted, his legs struggling to keep pace.
The deafening noise around him hammered against his skull, each explosion and scream leaving his head throbbing. Suddenly, a mech skidded to a halt in front of him, its parts erupting in a blaze, a suicide.
The shockwave nearly knocked him off his feet, but he stumbled forward, regaining his balance. He looked ahead, and there it was, the rear line. Fortified with anti-aircraft mortars. It was still a long way off, but he could see it. He could make it. He had to—
"No... This can't be right," a voice muttered over the comms, "A Havoc-class... on this battlefield? That's impossible."
He heard her voice over the earpiece, but it didn't matter now. The Havoc-class monster—a much larger and deadlier variant than the ones they had been fighting—had landed directly in front of him.
"All troops, focus fire... no. All troops, retreat toward Point 24," the voice over the comms ordered, panic ingrained in every word.
He glanced back quickly. Point 24, another designated checkpoint, was miles away. It was a safe haven for those still in their mechs, but for him, on foot, it was an impossible journey. The realization hit fast.
"I'm dead."
The beast towered over him, standing nearly forty feet tall. Bone-white horns pierced out from its chest, shoulders, and forearms, giving it a nightmarish, almost otherworldly appearance. It was the kind of monster conjured only in the deepest pits of fear—no, worse than that.
There was no beating this, even with his mech. The army had only ever managed to bring down Rift-class creatures and below. But this?
This monstrosity was leagues beyond anything they could handle. And with a single swing of its massive arm, the entire rear line was obliterated, reduced to a cloud of dust and rubble.
Coughing, he dropped to his knees, crouching low to the ground as the dust began to settle. Slowly, the aftermath came into view.
The rear line, his last hope for survival, had been destroyed. Tents lay in tatters, scattered alongside strewn corpses. This was the end for him, and for anyone else who hadn't already fled.
He stood up slowly, the pain in his face still aching like a headache from hell. And just behind him, large footsteps slammed across the ground like earthquakes.
He turned quickly.
A Rook-class Wyrm was already there, creeping up behind him. Lowest of the otherworldly monsters, but still dangerous if you let it get too close. Its bloated, slug-like body glistened with a layer of toxic slime, four sets of bulging eyes locking onto him all at once.
Then its jaw began to open. Wide enough to swallow a man whole.
He didn't move. Not because he was frozen with fear, he had simply seen this before. There wasn't much point in trying to dodge now. The Wyrm's mouth stretched wider, shadows folding in, and then, snapped shut around him.
Silence followed. The battlefield had already quieted on the soldiers side. Most had either fled or were long dead. The monsters still roamed, however. Tearing through the wreckage, consuming what little remained.
Then, six sharp gunshots rang out.
The Wyrm convulsed violently, and after moment it collapsed in a heap.
A few tense seconds passed before he forced his way out of its slackened jaws, gasping for air, each breath coming quick.
The Wyrms all had cores, their one and only critical weakness. For the lesser ones, a few well-placed bullets were more than enough.
But that wasn't true for the higher classes.
When up against those, you'd be smarter putting the bullet in your skull instead.
He turned to his side, eyes now locked on the much larger being. The sound of the gunshots, albeit muffled had dragged its attention. The Havoc class stared at him, then took one step forward, the very ground beneath it cracking inward.
This one wouldn't go down so easily. Bullets couldn't touch its core; the damn thing was harder than tungsten.
He knew that. Still, standing here and letting himself die without putting up a fight? That wasn't how he wanted to go.
Gritting his teeth, he raised his weapon again and squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Nothing. Just an empty noise. The gun was ruined, corroded by the Wyrm's slime.
He stared down at it for a second, then looked up again.
The Havoc class stopped moving, its form now bending over, hand covered in spiked bone coming toward him, a simple flick of the wrist. One that would reduce him to mist.
He laughed.
Moments like these made him realize how weak he was. Against monsters like these he couldn't do anything, he couldn't save anything. That was why he had wanted to come to the army. To kill the version of himself that fled that day, but it seems. He wasn't even incapable of doing that too.
And then, with a single sweep of its arm, the ground beneath him disintegrated into dust.
With a single sweep of its arm, on Port Yosen, he died.
.
.
.
Gate Open
Co-ordinates found, Port Yosen.
Juggernaut Deployed.
Kreuzlanze, Authorized.
"Happy killings, General Rass."
The sound of trumpets.
The white light of God.
Onlookers looked from the ground as a mech descended from the skies, its form coated in white and red. The crest on its back showing a distinction known to only a few. To some this was their god saving them, and to others. This was God.
Landing with a thunderous impact, the mech surged forward in a flash, its hand transforming into an energy blade that slashed through the air with precision.
The beast recoiled, throwing everything it had into defending against the blow, but the mech was relentless.
Despite its enormous size, it moved with astonishing speed, dashing back in an instant before striking again. With a swift motion, the mech pulled back its blade and, with its other arm, severed one of the monster's limbs in a clean cut.
Before attacking, the Havoc class had surveyed the battlefield. It had seen the extents of its opponents weaponry, their slow and predictable nature. But this.
This was different. The mech in front of it defied all expectations. It moved as though it had no weight, attacking with a speed and precision that shouldn't have been possible.
"Cross Lance. Half strength," Rass muttered, his voice a monotonous chorus, as though the battle before him barely registered.
"Authorized. Aim precisely, there are troops behind you," came a calm response over the comms.
Rass pressed a button, and his mech surged forward, its arm rising high above its head. The monster, sensing imminent danger, immediately hardened its skin, the bones that had covered its body growing in size, toughening.
It understood what was coming and if it could withstand this strike—what should surely be the mech's strongest attack—victory would be within its grasp.
"Told to hurry up deploy, and for what?"
With a single swing of its arm, the monster froze in place as the mech calmly walked past it.
Confusion stayed in the creature's eyes. Had the attack been a feint? It couldn't make sense of what had happened. And then, as it lingered in its thoughts, its body split cleanly down the middle, collapsing in two halves onto the ground.
"Havoc-class Wyrm dispatched," Rass muttered, his tone detached as he surveyed the battlefield. "Requesting permission to return to base."
"You really are as good as they say, Lance," came a voice over the comms, unfamiliar yet steady. It wasn't his assistant.
"Commander Fell. Your compliments are wasted on a man like me," Rass replied quickly.
"No need to be so modest. I saw it from your assistant's screen, you're a magnificent rider. If you weren't already a Captain, I'd be trying to recruit you for my team."
"Your words are too kind."
"Anyway," Fell continued, his tone shifting back to business, "what's the status of the port? Any survivors?"
Rass turned his machine to survey the aftermath, making a mental count of the functioning units. "Six survivors, all still in their mechs," he reported calmly.
"Out of the eight hundred sent into battle," Fell muttered, his voice grim. "The Wyrms are hitting us harder these days." A pause. "Anyway, good work, Rass. I'll put your assistant back on—"
"Red and white," a voice interrupted, faint but clear.
Rass glanced down, his screen focusing on a lone figure standing at the base of his mech.
"A soldier?" Fell's voice returned, curious. "Turn on your speakers, Rass."
Rass complied, and Fell spoke again, this time through the Juggernaut. "State your name, soldier."
The figure below straightened into a salute, a mixture of awe and pride in his voice. "My name is Magenta Hommes, sir, but everyone calls me MAGGIE!"
Fell chuckled lightly over the comms. "Magenta? That's a weird name." He studied the soldier for a moment before noticing something odd. "Is that... a gun?"
Magenta glanced down at the Beretta in his hand, his grip tightening on the antique weapon he'd taken from the commander of his battalion. "Yes, sir!"
Fell's laughter grew louder. "A gun? We haven't used those in over a hundred years, soldier. Where's your mech?"
Magenta's posture stiffened as he answered, hoping he wouldn't be reprimanded. "I exploded it to take down a monster, Sir!"
All standard mechs came equipped with a self-destruct button, not as a means to take down the Wyrms, but to grant the user a swift death when defeat was inevitable.
Soldiers were taught to see it not as suicide, but as a pragmatic way to avoid prolonged suffering. Yet Magenta had used it differently. He had turned the button meant for surrender into a weapon for survival.
"Using your self-destruct button to kill a Wyrm... carrying a gun in this day and age... I can't tell if that's brilliant or just plain stupid," Fell said.
Magenta remained silent.
"You remind me of someone, kid," Fell continued. "I don't know what you're after, but I doubt you'll find it here. Word of advice? Leave the army."
"I want to revive the 62nd District," Magenta muttered.
Fell sighed heavily. "The 62nd was destroyed eight years ago. Everyone there is gone. No Juggernauts were sent, it was already too late by the time word reached the other districts."
That was the story everyone had told him, the story they had told the media. But it wasn't true.
Why?
Because he was there that day, when the portals opened and the Wyrms walked through. Their colossal forms destroying the city, there wasn't any backup and there was never going to be any backup.
They weren't important enough.
And as the infrastructure was ruined, and the city fell, and the people died. His mother pushed him out the window, screaming at the top of her lungs. Forcing him to run, to flee as far as possible.
And he did, he ran without looking back, tears streaking down his face as the screams intensified.
"That's a lie..." Magenta whispered.
"How dare you speak to your superior officer like that—" Rass snapped, but Fell quickly silenced him.
"It's true," Fell responded. "Juggernauts travel via gates—tears in space and time that allow them to be anywhere in seconds. We could've saved your home. We just didn't."
"..."
"Do you hate us for it?" Fell asked.
Magenta hesitated, regardless of his hopes and wants. He knew the reality of war. "No, Sir."
"I see. What are you looking for on this battlefield, then, soldier?" Fell asked.
"My platoon commander once said only those at the top ranks can travel the world. Ever since that day, eight years ago, that's all I've wanted."
"I see." Fell chuckled softly, a sound more thoughtful than amused. "How about we make a deal?"
"Commander Fell!" Rass interjected.
"I'll give you a golden ticket. Leave the army and come to the Federation. If you can climb to the top of the Squad rankings, I'll grant you a Juggernaut."
"Why would you do that?"
"I don't know," Fell replied, "Maybe it's because your determination is strong, and I want to see where it takes you. Or maybe..." He trailed off briefly. "Maybe it's because you remind me of someone. An idiot so strong he outshined me in every way."
"..."
"Anyway," Fell continued, his tone shifting back to business, "don't be late to the Federation tomorrow—"
"Thank you, Sir!" Magenta shouted, the weight of the moment crashing over him. Then it hit him. "Tomorrow?!"
"The last new batch intake is tomorrow," Fell said, his voice getting farther away from the speakers. "You want to revive your hometown, don't you? Then you'd better not disappoint me."
The comms crackled as the assistant's voice returned, flustered. "Captain Rass, I'm so sorry! Commander Fell took over—"
"It's fine. Just prepare the gate," Rass muttered, his gaze still fixed on Magenta below. Then with a sigh. "What a pointless endeavor."
The Juggernaut shimmered and disappeared into the void as the gate closed, leaving Magenta standing alone.
Just moments ago, he had thought his life was over. Now, he had been handed an opportunity he had only dared to dream of—a chance at the Federation, and his very own Juggernaut.
He fell over, laughing at the ludicrous nature of it all.
Then, with his hand raised toward the sky, he clenched it into a fist, a small but determined smile crossing his face. "Just wait a little longer. I'll give you guys a proper send off."