Desperation
Late Evening
Kruskos Army Air Corps Testing Lab
Southwest of Berun, Empire
Something was wrong with the Major.
The thought had been nagging at Visha for a while now, had eaten away in the back of her mind until it was beyond obvious and beyond worrying.
After Tanya had returned from the capital… no, that wasn’t right. It was ever since Arene, she’d been off.
It took a while to nail it down specifically, but the one solid conclusion Visha had reached was simple.
Tanya didn’t smile anymore.
It was unsettling. And now that she knew, it was so, so obvious. Up until recently, Tanya had never been far away from the right quip, the perfect remark or anecdote, the best words one could hear in whatever funk they were going through.
But now, she simply remained silent. Or barring that, quiet and to the point. She didn’t joke around with them. She gave orders, appeared when necessary, and stole herself away when she wasn’t.
Even during their recon-in-force, one of the most crucial battles of the war, she’d been quieter than normal. Harsher than normal, even as she looked vaguely apologetic for doing so.
Then, once they’d accomplished their mission, and the Imperial army had successfully pulled back the front line, the Major had ordered their own retreat, and had said nothing more.
There were dark circles under her eyes. She was reclusive, closed off.
Visha was worried. Weiss, Koenig, and Neumann were worried. The whole battalion was worried, and they suffered for it, their direction the most aimless it had been since their initial training.
Their Commander was the greatest mage. She was their rock, their confidant, their ideal to strive for day in and day out.
She wasn’t supposed to be this… muted. Passive.
Tired.
And even now, as the 203rd’s twelve selected mages waited until nightfall for their next – and apparently, crucially important – mission, Tanya remained as such. She wasn’t even with the others, instead opting to stand near the edge of the area, staring off in the distance.
Visha knew she wasn’t the only one troubled by this.
She and the other members of Tanya’s inner circle whispered to one another, careful not to draw their leader’s attention.
“Do you think one of the Generals reprimanded her?” Koenig said quietly.
“As if.” Neumann rolled his eyes, though his bouncing knee gave him away, “It’s more likely she reprimanded him. It’s gotta be about Teyanen, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” Weiss frowned. “This isn’t like her. I hate seeing her like this.”
“It’s hard to remember sometimes that she’s just a teenager.” Neumann said, “She puts on a tough front, but the war has to really be weighing on her. We’re older, aren’t we? We should do something.”
“Do what, exactly?” Koenig interjected, “She’s always been several steps ahead no matter what. What could we even- I don’t know.” He sighed. “I’ve never forgotten she was a teenager. But sometimes, I look at her back, and her shoulders look broad enough to carry the Empire. She’s just so…”
“Strong.” Visha finished. “It’s not just Teyanen, or the war. They’re parts of it, kindling to the fire, for sure. I think the problem is all of it. And…”
She hesitated.
“…Arene.”
The group shuddered.
“She’s taking it harder than anyone. That was…” Visha glanced to the side. Tanya still hadn’t moved. “…horrible, to make light of it. And you know, she’s our superior. I’m sure she’s taking it all on her own shoulders, and she thinks she has too. Our actions are her responsibility, after all. And even if its following orders, the General Staff is… well, it’s a good thing I didn’t go with her to the capital.”
She scoffed, muttering bitterly, “I bet the blood of old men is hard to wash out.”
“Careful there, Serebryakov.” Weiss warned, though without any heat behind it.
After all, he, Koenig, and Neumann, all felt the same. It wouldn’t do to be hypocritical and reprimand her for it.
Visha sighed.
“…What should we do?”
“Honestly, I’d say it’s more like,” Neumann added, “What should you do, Serebryakov.”
“What?” Visha blinked. “No.”
“Serebryakov, we’re close to her, sure, but you’ve known her the longest.” Koenig pointed out, “And besides, we’re all adult men. You have the best chance of connecting with her. Naturally.”
“I think you’re overestimating me.” Visha shook her head, “And underestimating yourselves. She cares for you all just as much, you know.”
“Yes,” Weiss allowed, “but Serebryakov, the love between the Major and us is purely friendship.”
“I certainly love our Commander, for all she’s done for us. In a strictly platonic, comrade-in-arms family way.” Koenig agreed.
Neumann nodded, “If I had a sister, I’d have wanted it to be her. But I’m not the one who’s in love with her.”
“I’m not-” Visha paused, before dropping her head, “Fine. I am. We all know it, so there’s no point pretending, is there?”
“That’s great to hear.” Weiss pat her on the back, “Acceptance is the first step. Now go talk to her.”
“No. Not like this.” Visha looked up, shaking her head, “Yes, I love her, but that doesn’t mean I can just fix whatever’s gone wrong. Love isn’t an antiseptic or a medicine. At least, I don’t think it works that way.”
She mumbled the last part, her brow creasing with worry.
“…Even if it doesn’t work that way,” Neumann began, “I don’t think it could hurt. How could it? If the Commander knows there’s someone who loves her, that has to be a nice thought. Right?”
“If that’s the case, then you all need to tell her as well.” Visha looked at each man in turn, “I’ll tell her how I feel, and you admit to her face that you’re her family. You’re right about that, I think. Even if it doesn’t bring her back, we should let the Major know she’s loved.”
She looked down at her boots again.
“Growing up in an orphanage, and then jumping straight to the military as a teen… I don’t know if she’s ever known that. She deserves to know.”
Weiss, Koenig, and Neumann exchanged a glance, and after a moment, a nod.
“Alright.” Weiss said. “You’re right, of course. Let’s-”
“Form up! Gather into your assigned platoons and form up!”
The shouting of their Commander cut their conversation short.
So much for that.
It was time for their mission.
They’d have time. Eventually.
Probably.
-=-=-=-
The idea was simple.
After the initial stabilization of the Rhine Front, no progress had been made by either the Empire or the Republic. The deadlock had existed for nearly two years at this point. The entire area has become nothing more than an endless sink of men and money.
Something had to give. Eventually, one side would give in, and be forced back. Now, whether that was months down the line, or years, depended on stubbornness, and morale, among other things. This was obvious to anyone with half a brain.
And so, it wasn’t long before the brilliant minds at the General Staff had an idea.
As stated before, eventually, one side would give in. It was a matter of time.
So, why not give in?
That is to say, do so on their own terms, in such a way to create a advantage. One that would blow the Rhine Front wide open.
Literally.
It was genius.
Pull back the right flank. Draw in the enemy army. Then, blast through with the left flank, and surround them majority of their enemy completely.
All they needed was an appropriate spark, to light to correct fires at the correct times.
To no one’s surprise, the White Silver’s 203rd would be that spark.
The withdrawal of the right flank was a success, also at the hands of the brilliant 203rd battalion. Then, began the enemy march into abandoned territory. They wer being drawn in, just as planned.
Next would be the destruction of the left flank’s opponent. But before that would be the spark; the destruction of their enemy’s frontline communications.
12 of the 203rd’s best mages. Launched inside prototype V1 rockets, held together by Germanian ingenuity and dreams.
Obviously, they could not fail.
The communication hub was destroyed. Francois Rhine Front Headquarters, obliterated.
And soon after that, the rout would begin.
It was only a matter of time.
-=-=-=-
“Uh, ma’am?” Weiss stood, barely resisting the urge to hunch over in the doorway.
They’d been successful in their mission. How could they not? Those handpicked mages from the 203rd, elite even amongst the elites – well, Grantz and the somewhat new Lotte didn’t technically fit this, but the truth was plenty of the 203rd had been injured by the previous mission. As such, they had been selected from the remainder by the 203rd’s commanders using the tried and true “eeny, meeny, miney, moe” method – and furthermore featuring the White Silver herself, could not even envision a future in which failure was an option.
How ironic, considering... but that is not relevant in this exact moment.
What was relevant, right here and now, was that this submarine was quite cramped for a tall man like Weiss. Not even to mention the troubles someone such as Neumann, a man both taller, wider, and more muscular than Weiss, was having.
However, they could not complain. Out loud, at least. This was their situation, and thus they were forced to deal with it. It was far from the worst place the 203rd had had to spend the night. Certainly, more comfortable than a hastily dug snow pit in the mountains and very obviously warmer.
“There’s a problem.” He continued.
“What is it, Weiss?” Tanya’s voice was tired, her expression that same frustrating level of blank it had been ever since her return from the capital.
But, Weiss. She said Weiss. Not Lieutenant, nor First Lieutenant.
At the very least, that was a good sign. If she was lowering her barriers again, even in this very slight way, it may be possible to reach her once more.
But that was a problem for the future. Right now, they weren’t home yet. And that meant the mission wasn’t done. They still had to sleep the night through, then fly back to the nearest local Rhine Front HQ.
Regarding that first bit…
“Well, you see…” Weiss hesitated.
Tanya frowned, her arms crossed and a finger tapping against her bicep.
“Don’t waste time. Get on with it.”
“Right, right of course.” He coughed into his fist. “Ma’am, there’s only eleven bunk spots.”
“Eleven?”
Weiss moved back and aside, so she could see inside their “room”.
Well, it repurposed torpedo storage, but the specifics weren’t important.
Except, they were, Tanya noted internally.
The room itself was somewhat long, with six torpedo racks on the right side, stacked two to a spot. Without the torpedoes, they resembled bunk beds the way they were positioned. However, on the left side, there were only 5 torpedo racks. This is because a control panel sat on the wall above one of the racks, instead of an accompanying “top bunk” rack.
Twelve mages of the 203rd had taken part in this Operation. There were only eleven racks for sleeping in.
“I do see the problem.” Tanya said, recognizing this with a glance.
The rest of her subordinates were already inside the room, either setting up blankets, relaxing, or sat chatting quietly with someone else. The unfilled rack, presumably Weiss’, was the one to their immediate left. This was the one situated underneath the control panel, it should be noted.
“Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll assign one of the men to sleep on the floor.”
“And how will you go about that?” Tanya raised an eyebrow.
Weiss grinned. From one of the pockets on his chest, he pulled a pack of worn playing cards.
“As men of old have always decided such things, ma’am.”
“Right…”
Tanya normally would have rolled her eyes here, and such a reaction had been Weiss’ goal. She did not do so, instead looking towards the room again.
“There’s no need for that.” Was her response. “Actually, the Captain offered to lend me his quarters for tonight.”
Visha, who’s bunk was the first one on the right after entering, froze.
She’d been about to offer to share her bunk with Tanya. She’d even done up her blankets and allocated the perfect amount of space for her crush commander.
“But I turned the offer down.” Tanya continued. “I’d rather not be separated from my own at this time.”
Visha let out a silent sigh of relief.
“Maj-” She began.
“Lotte,” Tanya called out, unintentionally cutting her off, “We’ll be bunking together it seems.”
“Huh?” Lotte sat up on her rack.
“Huh?!?!” Visha exclaimed, shooting out of hers.
Tanya raised an eyebrow, her blank expression bleeding slightly into bemusement.
“Er,” Lotte tentatively began, “Are you sure that’s for the best, Major.”
“You’re the smallest one here, if you were somehow unaware. And, while I’m certain Neumann’s pecs would make a fine and firm pillow, a female officer bunking with a man is obviously frowned upon.”
Neumann patted his muscular, barrel of a chest twice, nodding to himself as if in agreement. Everyone collectively decided to ignore this.
“That leaves you, and my adjutant. Of you two, you are shorter and slighter of frame, so there’d be more space. Need I elaborate further for you?”
Tanya stared at Lotte, eyebrow still raised as if to say “Any further questions?”
Behind Tanya’s back, Visha also stared, her gaze slowly freezing into an icy glare.
Lotte coughed into her fist.
“Ah, well…” She looked around for help and found none. Everyone else was far too amused by the spectacle to bother. “I’m- I’m actually really bad about, um, space?”
“Oh?”
“Right, yeah.” Lotte nodded. “I like, I spread out unconsciously, you know? Like a, what’s that fish, like a storfish? A starfish! Like that. So, you uh, you’d actually end up with a lot less space than you think. So, I really think, um, it’d be in both- I mean, your best interests, if-”
“Are you lying to me, Second Lieutenant?”
Uh oh. Rank drop.
“I-” Lotte froze for a second, “That… depends on how you define lying, Commander.”
Tanya stared at her.
“Then, how would you define lying?”
“R-reclining in a horiz- in a horizontal position, ma’am?”
Tanya blinked, then rolled her eyes. Weiss was almost jealous someone else had managed to exasperate her into a genuine reaction.
She turned away, towards Visha.
“Looks like we’re bunking together,” Tanya said, “I wasn’t aware I’d recruited starfish into our lot, but I suppose they let just about anyone hold guns these days.”
Lotte couldn’t find it in herself to be insulted.
Visha was ecstatic.
Tanya was just tired, honestly.
-=-
It's a shame.
But it is the fatal truth of this world.
Good things never last, do they?
A flash of light. A whistle in the air. A faint tingle of energy across the senses, just before impact.
Not enough to react too.
Only enough to know the existence of potential death, before it collides into you head on.
BOOOM!!!
“Grantz!”
Grantz did not respond to the cries. Trialing crimson and burnt fabric, he fell limply to the earth, splashing down within the ocean below.
He was still alive, his mana signature still up if noticeably weakened.
Not that this registered to anyone at the time.
Tanya watched him fall, an odd disconnect between what she saw and what she thought.
We were done. We were almost there.
A roar of flames, engulfing everything. Crumbling buildings, crashing artillery.
Screaming.
Blackened husks.
A line of enemies.
Grantz.
Grantz.
They’d almost made it home. The war was almost over.
Yet.
My men. My battalion. My friends.
They’d almost-
Something snapped.
A rush, a wave.
Anger. Fury. Rage.
But Tanya did not lose herself.
The wave was cold. An icy, focus-sharpening rage buzzed just under her skin, her mana humming and rising along with it. A cool sense of detachment overtook her, then.
All that mattered right now was surviving, right?
Everyone needed to survive. That was the goal from the beginning.
To survive, they needed to win.
And to win, she would have to take out the biggest threat.
That blast, the one that had downed Grantz, had been far too powerful.
A shotgun blast, working like a sniper and piercing an elite mage’s passive barrier from range?
Perhaps the others hadn’t recognized it, focused not on the specifics of the blast but rather the blast’s results… but that sort of ability wasn’t normal.
One of their foes was sporting abnormal ability. Whether they’d been born lucky or held some other advantage was yet to be determined.
Tanya’s focus narrowed in on the man at the front of the enemy.
A surprisingly familiar man, reloading his shotgun, yet meeting her gaze dead on even at distance.
Anson Sioux. Reported as KIA, yet clearly alive and right there, according to the Imperial mana signature banks reporting the man as an Ace of Aces and readying up for another shot.
Tanya was not someone who gambled. But she’d bet anything that little abnormal power he’d displayed fit much closer to the “other advantage” category.
And she’d be damned if she let someone like that near her soldiers.
For a single moment in time, stretching out to near eternity, no one moved. No one breathed. Everyone was anticipating everyone else.
Then, Tanya breathed.
It was difficult, but… it came easier than before. A cool head was necessary for the technique, but right now… her anger served as a fine, if volatile, conduit.
Her left eye glowed a bright, furious gold.
-=-
“Pixie 02 to all, don’t let them pincer us!!”
“Pixie 04 to platoon 3, curl around that group and give em Hell!”
“Pixie all, retreat into cloud coverage! Run illusions and pull back where they can’t see us!”
It was all just background noise. Tanya paid only as much attention as she dared.
She was a bit busy not dying, as it were.
His power is nothing like it was before!
After ordering her subordinates to form up and play to any advantage they could find, Tanya had shot high into the air, higher than most mages would normally go.
And, as predicted, Anson Sioux pursued.
The few shots she’d taken at him and his cohorts certainly helped. She’d even downed a few enemy mages in the process, her version of “pot shots” more powerful and effective than many mages’ intentional killing shots. There were some benefits to being the best, it seemed.
Along with a hefty surplus of downsides.
You stupid bastard! Being X! This must be your doing!
Tanya's advantage in the air was second to none, and were you to listen to Grantz and the stories from his and Tanya’s alma mater, she was mountains and skyscrapers above everyone else.
Legends and exaggerations notwithstanding, her power and skill quite often outmatched even the toughest foes. And even if her enemy could match her with technique or potential, she had one more advantage over everyone else: agility. No one in the world was faster in the air, and there was likely not a soul in existence that could outdo her maneuverability.
The result of this fact was the birth of her main modus operandi. Move faster than anyone else can. Set the pace of battle at so high a level that no one had time to react.
The use of illusion spells only boosted this. Even if they could read her movement, they'd be duped by her illusions. And even if they weren't duped, she was either more powerful or more skillful, and definitely quicker, and as such could get around whatever paltry defense they'd managed to throw up.
But this guy, he’s experienced. He might be a match for me in skill, and right now his power exceeds that of even my Dual-Orb style. If I used the Type 95 fully... no, that's not an option. I can still feel some of the negative buildup from yesterday's operation. I can't get into a battle of attrition right now. Damn it, even with Dual-Orb it was-
He found her again.
Tanya grit her teeth, quickly switching the magazine on her submachine gun. She spun to the left from behind her cloud cover, just as a blue-tinted bullet spread blasted past her former position, exploding into a multicolored array behind her.
The first time, she hadn’t dodged far enough and had nearly paid dearly for it, as the edges of magic-enhanced trench gun spread crashed against her hastily raised active barrier. Tanya did not make that mistake again.
It doesn't matter the whys and the whatevers; there's no way I could have expected something like this. How did he survive at all? No doubt that bastard’s doing too.
Tanya flipped through the air, dodging another barrage and bouncing off nothing. She flipped over, upside down, and fired.
Bright green burst from the muzzle spraying the area behind her in a tight spread.
Anson slowed, throwing up an arm with his blue active barrier coming up with it. Her bullets rattled against his barrier, sparking, deflecting, and even disintegrating in the process.
My speed is still miles ahead, but ranged attacks are practically obsolete right now.
Tanya let off, rocketing higher and slipping around another small cloud.
I can’t break his barrier like this. He’s too overcharged by whatever boost that bastard gave him. Which means…
Anson flew up, trench gun trained in front of him. He followed the mana signature tugging lightly on the back of his mind, swinging up and around until-
“There!”
A small blur, heading right for him-!
His eyes widened, squeezing the trigger on reaction.
His blast eviscerated the grenade, the explosion and smoke filling the space in front of him.
The mana detection formula tugged again, more urgently, right behind him.
Anson spun around, just barely throwing up his barrier right before as a second grenade detonated dangerously close.
“Another fake-!?”
The explosion was massive, much larger than the first and magically charged with green sparks dancing in the shockwave. Anson snarled, clenching his fist tight and keeping his magic on a tight leash.
His barrier held up, a singular crack running diagonally across its upper half.
Then, through the smoke-
“HAAAHHH!!!”
Tanya appeared above him, her gun held backwards in both hands.
I’ll break it myself!
The wood glowed neon as she swung it down, the stock smashing against, then through Anson’s barrier.
Anson desperately shot his arms up, his trench gun held tight and glowing with his own mana, to block the strike that would no doubt fuse the top of his skull with his collarbone if he let it connect.
CRASH!!!
The shockwave blasted away the remaining smoke and any cloud coverage within 100 meters of their position.
Green sparked against blue, furious gazes meeting and clashing in a battle of wills and backed by an unnatural, inhuman-level of mana-enhanced power.
Blue against green, gold-glowing orange against gold and blue.
Neither would give an inch.
CRACK!!!
Anson’s trench gun split in half. The stock of Tanya’s submachine gun sheared off halfway through. Their mana, pouring through both objects, burst free.
BOOM!!!
-=-
“The flight of an aerial mage was often compared to a dance. Tanya's own moniker of 'White Silver' was elegant, and her flying reflected this. Smooth, purposeful, and above all, fast. These were how she was described in the air.”
Blood trickled down her face, burning her eye. She ignored it.
A saw blade scraped ice against her brain. She pushed the pain to the side.
Her knife lashed out, deflecting Anson’s own. The metal glowed, not just from magic but from the heat it gave off.
“This battle was none of those things. It was sharp. Brutal. Random. There were no snarky remarks, no conversation several thousand meters above the earth. No time for cleverness or looking cool or clearly showing superiority.”
Another slash, hers this time in an underhand swipe. He brought his knife down, overhanded, and tried to lock blades, quickly reaching out to grab her. Tanya spun, wrenching herself away.
Anson pursued, stabbing forward with a wild look in his eye. Blood poured down his face as well, a gash across cheek and a diagonal cut across the bridge of his nose painting in splotches of crimson.
She tilted her head, the strike whistling past and shaving away a few errant strands of hair as she went in for the kill.
Anson met her halfway before she could even try, headbutting her and sending her darting back, half blind from blood and starred vision, narrowly avoiding another grapple from his off hand.
“This was an ugly, disgraceful conflict. Blood, smoke, and mana slashing through the air in equal amounts, the combatants nigh indistinguishable from the savage beasts they resembled.”
He’d already gotten a hold of her once early on, gripping her forearm tight enough for the bones to creak and yanking her in to stab at her throat.
She’d yanked herself to the side, barely altering his hold just enough to be stabbed across the side of her neck rather than directly through her jugular.
Next time he got a hold of her, he wouldn’t make the same lapse.
They both knew this.
“It was a startling shift, and one the Major rapidly had to adapt to in real time. The ultimate test, where even the tiniest failure meant a one-way trip to a double promotion and a post-mortem medal ceremony, possibly featuring an empty casket.” -Silver Wing Diaries, Volume 3
Their blades clashed again, and again.
CRRRCK!!!
Then, the white-hot metal of both snapped each knife near the base.
Neither mage hesitated, not even for a microsecond, and the fight continued by fist and boot.
-=-
Visha kept watch on the fight through the iron sights of her rifle, a magic sight swirling lazily in front of her eye.
They’re too close…
There wasn’t a good shot anywhere in sight.
Come on, Tanya.
The battle further below was largely finished. Even at a heavy numbers disadvantage, the 203rd’s handpicked best were up against a battalion of hastily thrown together aerial mages. Even though their foes were obviously well-trained, it was nothing compared to the chemistry, overall ability, and incredible fury sported by Tanya’s top subordinates.
You can’t lose. You can’t.
Visha followed the fight closely, drifting as close as she dared. Even from a good distance out, she could practically sense the intensity, the electricity, the inferno of mana.
Her eyes widened just a bit, as Tanya ducked inside a strike, lashing out with a kick. The shockwave was audible even from her position, Tanya’s foe rocketing an incredible distance away and clutching at his torso.
There!
-=-
Everything hurt.
I'm wearing down. But he won't fucking give. And he's not going to give until one of us is dead.
Tanya spat a wad of blood off to the side.
Even with Dual-Orb, I don’t have much time left. I can feel it ticking up. My body is creaking. My head is screaming for me to stop.
Her vision blurred. She swiped up irritably to wipe blood from her eye. Even just that motion had the muscles in her arm aching, a metallic tang still filling her nose and mouth.
She grit her teeth.
But that doesn’t matter as long as I can still move.
The surplus magical energy flowing through her body was a problem.
Tanya switched her focus, flipping the roles of the Type 97 and Type 95 from offense to defense and vice versa. She raised the mana output on her enhancement and reinforcement formulae even as her spine burned, and her bones ached down to the marrow.
Even still, now there was less physical strain on her body thanks to the lower output of the Type 97, and more external firepower thanks to the Type 97.
Even if it kills me…
The mental strain only worsened, her grip on the Dual-Orb technique nearly slipping. Her focus shifted for an instant, the stored mana kept inside the Type 95 threatening to come lose, run rampant. Tanya fought against the pain, the mana, the exhaustion and desire to give up, collapse, let it all go-
Blood streamed from her nose. Ice and fire roared across her skull. Her fingers shook, even clenched tight into fists.
Tanya maintained control. Just in time.
...I’m not going to lose. Anyone.
Anson regained control of his flight, finally, several tens of meters away.
At least two of his ribs were broken, even with his insane enhancement formulae. Tanya had felt that much give away, even in her hard-to-focus current state.
The fighting is over! All of it! It ends here and now!
Her body pulsed, fists clenched painfully tight as she layered more of her own mana along her body using the Type 97.
He was far enough away now. He’d been worn down enough, couldn’t move quick enough or muster enough power, to avoid or deflect this.
She could let loose without repercussion.
An optical spell was prepared just past the palm of her right hand, the Type 95’s golden hue backing it and washing over the orb of violently sparking energy.
Everything she could afford to give right now, without running out completely. Her strongest piece of magic to date, without question.
A swirl of gold and green mana, formed with her Dual-Orb technique to create perhaps the most powerful optical spell the world had ever seen up so far in history.
Anson Sioux slowly began to uncurl, one arm gingerly holding his ribs.
Tanya held her right hand at her hip, slowly, desperately keeping focus and working against the white-hot knives stabbing into her skull. Her control nearly slipped against, but she was expecting it this time.
Her control remained intact yet again, her hold on the mana only strengthening alongside her resolve. The mana pulsed, green and gold electricity zapping the air around her.
Then-
CRACK!
A gunshot.
!!!
Anson gripped his shoulder, crimson dotting the sky behind him. He looked to the side, the half of his active barrier that he could manifest deflecting follow up shots.
Tanya turned her head slightly, following his barely visible glare.
Visha?!
Her hold slipped, the ball of mana sparking dangerously hot and bulging back, burning her palm. Tanya barely forced it back under control, the effort required nearly making her black out.
Her head spun, dizziness and internal focus keeping her from verbalizing anything at the moment.
What are you-!?
Anson looked back at Tanya for a second, then at Visha again.
He couldn’t win right now, and they both knew it.
But, if he were to attack one of Tanya’s comrades, she definitely couldn’t fire at him.
And, if he could get a hand on that rifle…
The thoughts occurred practically simultaneously, barely coherent yet clear enough in the exhausted and pain-lanced minds of both mages. Realization set in just the same.
Anson started for Visha.
Tanya wouldn’t let him.
No-!
She thrust her hand forward.
The magical energy pulsed, the white-hot ball in front of her hand reflecting across blue and gold eyes. Mana resonated off of it in chaotic arcs, violent, snapping at the air.
Without warning, fire, hotter and sharper than anything before wracked her form. Mana thrumming in her veins and echoing through her bones.
Blood painting her upper lip, her cheeks, her neck.
The spell, volatile and chaotic with full focus and effort, tipped dangerously into instability. The flow of Dual-Orb slipped.
It was like trying to grasp flowing, electrified water. Her hold loosened every moment…
She grit her teeth painfully, a metallic taste in the back of her throat, and took aim.
“STAY AWAY FROM HER!!!”
She hadn’t even realized she’d spoken, blood and rage in her throat.
The spell rolled, shafts of light spiraling in every direction. It rebelled. It fought back, harder than before, stronger and hotter and brighter than any of her struggles before.
The power grew. And grew. It filled the spell, her palm, her hand, her arm.
Building, building, building.
The fire inside burned.
The flow fought against her. More, it called.
More. More. More.
There was more to be found. The stored mana, the massive amount Tanya had desperately kept contained. Because, the Type 95 could not be trusted. The Type 95 was dangerous, even to its most powerful, most effective user.
Keeping control of it alone was impossible. As she was now, it was impossible to use the Type 95’s full potential without damaging herself. Splitting control halved this danger, technically, by reducing the amount of ill-fitting power. But the concentration required to effectively use two computation orbs, six cores in total, was…
In other words, keeping tight control of two fundamentally different computation orbs, in an active combat zone no less, required incredibly high levels of internal mana efficiency, mental coordination, and external magical output, on a level impossible individually for many and totally impossible combined unless your name happened to be Tanya von Degurechaff.
But that was assuming she was in her right mind, not influenced by too many external or internal factors that could disrupt focus or flow or both.
The Type 95 shined, even through the thick material of her pants pocket.
The mana roared. A tsunami washed against a dam, the concrete trembling.
It hurt.
On a good day, with a cool head and without everything else, this would be difficult. In the heat of battle, with emotions running wild and exhaustion knocking in the background and…
.
.
.
Ah.
This moment.
This moment was…
No matter how valiant the effort, humanity struggles to make true progress. Evolution, without treading the edge of desire and need, is implausible.
But that great beast, War, the ever terrible and ongoing crisis that it is, flirts with the precipice. In the midst of such crisis lies the potential for rapid progression. Such is the nature of war. The greatest advancements are often made on the razor edge.
And all it takes is a single moment.
In the midst of crisis, humans are only one step away… from an evolution.
Tanya von Degurechaff…
.
.
.
No.
It’s not that time yet.
This moment, this situation, this time…
.
.
.
…it was too much.
It hurt.
Tanya's blue eye changed, flooding with a brilliant, glowing golden.
The dam broke.
-=-
Anson Sioux froze in his advance, turning instead towards his real enemy.
That light…
His eyes widened. The magic bashing against his senses, it was… familiar.
It felt like…
Something snapped.
His eyes widened, the gold tint fading away back into his normal brownish orange.
“God…?” He blinked, a sudden clarity rushing into him. A sense of self he hadn’t known had been broken pieced itself back together, in the end.
No… but that power, it’s insane. And… familiar.
Internally, Anson knew he couldn’t avoid it. His instincts demanded he throw up a barrier anyway, and so he did. He watched it approach, knowing in his heart that this was his end.
And with that certainty, came an even greater clarity.
He wasn’t looking at the power.
Oh. I suppose I missed it before. The Rusted Silver... is just a girl. The blood on her hands, the blood on my hands, I see.
Instead, he looked at the one behind it. Really looked.
You... are me. It’s obvious, right? Protecting your home, your family, friends. Did I judge you unfairly? After all, we’re both...
Anson Sioux closed his eyes.
It was over. It was okay.
If there’s a righteous God out there to hear my plea, I beg you, spare Mary from such a fate. Allow her the strength to avoid such conflict. It seems my own won't be enough. Don’t allow her to become like us.
It was upon him now. It was blinding.
Power like this, power like mine. They were products of love, weren’t they?
It was-
.
.
.
BWOOOOOOM