Guardian Innana Squadron, Ammoran Ocean Neutral Zone — April 22, 2022

  “Towers, Blackbeak, Whitethorn. Respond.”

  “Westfall, Havilliard, Galathynius. Do you copy?”

  An affirmative beep signalled the encryption of comms between AEWA Throne and its charges. “Innana Three and Four, welcome to the AO. Have you been previously briefed by War Command about the situation?”

  Lord Velaris turned towards his Lady’s Pal Aurora 4, the two Annorial fighters in close formation as they gently soared above the waters of the Ammoran Ocean. “Affirmative, Throne, but the details were somewhat rushed due to the immediate nature of our deployment. Can you give us a full briefing of the mission at hand?”

  “Roger, Innana Three. A traitor to the Annorial Empire has made an attempt to escape justice by commandeering a Pal Sylphid airliner, and is now en route to Osean-controlled airspace in the false hopes of seeking asylum with the Eastern barbarians. Security forces were able to damage the aircraft’s engines as it took off, which has significantly reduced its speed and gives us a narrow window to intercept your target’s transport before its exits the Neutral Zone—you are to either force the Sylphid to return back to Annorial airspace, or to shoot down the aircraft altogether. Any Osean fighters that attempt to interfere with your operations are to be warned away from the Sylphid—you are cleared to engage and eliminate said aircraft if they refuse to comply.”

  From her cockpit, Lady Velaris blinked in surprise. “Copy, Throne. Are we finally beginning our retaliation against Osea for their atrocities?”

  “That’s above your paygrade, Innana Four,” came the terse reply from the AEWA operator. “Stick to your orders and we’ll inform you and your squadron if there are any further developments.”

  The two nobles smirked at the response, recognising the subtext behind their immediate superior’s words—it was an open secret amongst the esteemed Guardians that a negative would oftentimes be expressed through a direct rebuttal rather than a reminder of their positions as directly subservient to the Emperor and his advisors. Rumors had been quick to spread after orders began to circulate for the repositioning of military units over the past few months, the first since the entire fiasco two years ago with the mysterious Oseans unexpectedly laying waste to the vast majority of the Empire’s Ravernal assets—for many, the painstaking efforts of the Annorials to repair and recoup their losses were rapidly approaching completion, and their long-sought goal to reclaim the New World in the name of their Ancestors had now been compounded by a burning desire for enacting revenge against the Easterners for their audacious strike at the heart of their realm.

  Losing their very first sortie against a single fighter with equal technological capabilities had been a profoundly humiliating experience for the Guardians—it was an insult to the three namesakes they honoured, and one that they would undoubtedly be more than happy to repay tenfold. And with Enlil decimated from their ill-fated duel with the Reaper, the task now fell upon Innana themselves to continue their work—

  “Innana Three, positive visual on the Sylphid. We’re also picking up radar signatures for what appears to be the Oseans’ fighters.”

  Lady Velaris squinted her eyes—she gasped in surprise at what she saw. “Ancestors, those look like Pal Aurora 2s! How the hell do the Osean barbarians have those?!”

  Osean Air Force Base 444 “Spare” Squadron, Ammoran Ocean Neutral Zone — April 22, 2025

  Fifteen Terminators soared in close formation, all adorned in white livery and the distinctive leaf of the IUN logo emblazoned in a grey tint on their left wings. But unlike their Annorial counterparts, their cockpits were enclosed, covered by a thick black canopy of experimental metals, fibres, and instruments where the glass surfaces would have once been—a series of sensors and cameras continuously fed visual information regarding the fighters’ surroundings to their pilots, a COFFIN interface relaying their commands and communications with both their own aircrafts and a solitary E-767 over two hundred and fifty nautical miles to the east.

  These were no ordinary Su-37s—these were experimental prototypes for an envisioned future when even the oldest aircraft of the OADF would one day field the most advanced technologies in the field of air combat. And controlling these fighters on a potential sortie that they were not supposed to be partaking in this early in their development was Spare Squadron—a group of convicted pilots deemed expendable by their superiors thanks to their numerous crimes, sent to do whatever mission was too risky or needlessly hazardous to the regular forces without their Singularities at hand.

  From his concealed cockpit, Tabloid frowned in confusion as he and his fellow criminals continued to fly in close coordination towards the approaching airliner. “I know Bright Hill likes us to do some crazy stuff, but why would they give us experimental fighters of all things? Surely a bunch of disreputable folks like ourselves would have been the last people they would have considered for piloting these—”

  “Don’t worry, I looked it up right before we took off,” Full Band drawled casually as his eye panned towards a minor glitch in his HUD. “These prototypes literally came right off of General Resources’s factories before they went sent out here to the Neutral Zone—it’s better for the higher-ups and their corporate buddies if a bunch of convicts like ourselves were to be killed by a software or hardware error or two than one of their actual test pilots. Cheaper for everyone, and no one of value gets lost at the end of the day.”

  From his console, Bandog smirked. “It also helps that we have direct control over all of your respective planes—if a single one of you decides to make a run for it, then a single button on my end will be more than enough to get you and your toys back to base. And solitary will be the least of your problems this time for committing high treason, desertion and corporate malfeasance, so don’t even think about it.”

  “Awww, you’re no fun!”

  “Anyway,” Count interrupted with a hint of irritation, “what’s this about us being redirected towards these new coordinates? I thought we already completed all the remaining shakedown and air combat tests for these fighters—are we heading back to base for debriefing, or what?”

  “Since you’re being so insistent, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” the AWACS operator sarcastically replied. “No one cares about what you think, Count—so stop polluting the airspace with whatever orders you keep giving the other convicts. No one’s even following them no matter how much you keep barking, you idiot, so do us a favour and shut up.”

  The comms net erupted into a chorus of awed gasps and jeers as Spare 2 audibly took the hint and fumed in silence. Shaking his head, Bandog turned to address the other pilots.

  “To answer your questions, we’ve detected a radar signature identical to a Yuktobanian Tu-144 airliner coming out of the Annorial side of the Neutral Zone; as we’re pretty sure the Yukes haven’t been sent to Elysia like us Oseans, the higher ups suspect that this is potentially a local transport with some kind of high-value cargo—especially with the two Pal Aurorae fighters now in close pursuit. Your task is to intercept the airliner and figure out what it’s doing—if it’s a defector, then you’re cleared to protect and escort the aircraft to a safe location where regular forces can take over and crack that thing open like an egg.”

  “And if it’s not a defector?"

  “I suspect the lot of you are at least bright enough to figure out what to do then—maybe give those weapons systems an extra test or two, don’t you think?”

  High Roller chuckled. “Now that’s something within our field of expertise. Right, boys?”

  Spare Squadron—sans Count—burst into cheers.

  “Well, I’ll be damned—it is a Tu-144!”

  The normally-racuous convicts of Spare Squadron were for once focused on not cursing their less-than-ideal circumstances or bemoaning their irritable jailors, but rather taken in by the unusual sight of what could be easily mistaken for a Yuktobanian airliner in the New World of all places. Only the distinct Annorial flag and their unusual alphabetic script were what seemingly distinguished this aircraft from something from the Verusan continent—that, and the magical blue plumes currently coming out of three of the four rear exhausts.

  “Hey, do you guys ever wonder why a lot of the technology these Elysians keep fielding nowadays keeps looking like something we’d see from back home? Like those Gra Valkans, for instance—those old Antares propeller fighters they’re currently decommissioning; aren’t those similar to the 109s and Zeroes from back in the last century?”

  “Well, I suppose there’s a reason why the Belkans seem to be moving to the other side of the planet nowadays,” Full Band mused. “At least we won’t have to deal with whatever schemes Spare 11’s Grey Men overlords are definitely cooking this time—”

  Tabloid frowned. “Hey, that’s racist!”

  “I thought the Grey Men were all arrested and imprisoned for high treason before the Transference even happened?”

  “Or maybe the Yukes all shot them via firing squad like back in the day,” High Roller mused. “Whatever it is, at least it’s not them we’re dealing with today—it’s bad enough with all these Annorials running around…”

  From the radio, Bandog began barking orders to the Spares. “All units form up around the aircraft’s flanks. Spare 2, try and signal to anyone inside the cabin; Spare 8, get on the plane’s six and prepare to shoot the engines. Let’s see what business these newcomers have in these parts.”

  Six Terminators formed up on the sides of the Tu-144, Champ positioning his aircraft in front of the exhausts. With Count glancing at the cockpit adjacent to the airliner for its pilot, the AWACS operator began broadcasting in the open:

  “Unidentified Annorial aircraft, this is the Osean Air Force Base 444 Squadron. You are in Osean-controlled airspace within the Neutral Zone—identify yourself and state your intentions, or you will be considered hostile and fired upon as per the terms of the 2020 ceasefire agreement!”

  “…wait, don’t shoot! I beg you, don’t shoot!”

  Bandog frowned. “Annorial aircraft, who is this? Identify yourself at once!”

  “This is Lieutenant Zhenmann of the Imperial Annorial Air Force, currently piloting this aircraft; I have two additional high-ranking souls onboard with sensitive materials related to the internal affairs of the Empire, and we wish to defect to the Osean Federation! We seek asylum under the protections of international law—please don’t fire on us!”

  Looking up at the damaged engines of the Tu-144, Tabloid frowned. “I’m no expert on Yuktobanian airliners, Bandog, but this thing isn’t exactly in the best of conditions. I’m seeing multiple bullet holes in the fuselage and smoke coming out of the engines—this plane’s gonna have to find a place to land soon, or else it might not be flying around for much longer…”

  A loud beep drew Count’s attention from the airliner in front of him to the radar, causing his eyes to widen. “Whatever it is we’re doing, we’d better do it fast—those Pal Aurorae fighters are getting closer, and they aren’t exactly hiding their presence from us, either!”

  Growling, Bandog decided to contact his superiors. “Stand by, Spare Squadron. Spare 2, Spare 11, Spare 1, head towards the Annorial fighters and try to stall for time while I get HQ to give us further orders.”

  “Roger!”

  Department of Defense, Oured, Osean Federation — April 22, 2022

  “A defector?”

  Vice President Ayala leaned forward at the display as he and the other high-ranking members of the civilian government and military branches turned towards Secretary Edwards and General Shepherd of the Joint Chiefs of Staff—Armstrong and Legarda were both patched in from their own respective offices in the Senate and House of Representatives, their faces appearing on the side of the projected display on the wall of the meeting room.

  “That’s what the pilot in question claims—his aircraft is also currently damaged and will need to land within the next hour; two Pal Aurorae fighters with combined Su-57 and J-20 configurations are also on an intercept course and will likely reach our experimental Super Flankers within the next two minutes. We suspect their orders are to dispose of the defectors if necessary, Vice President.”

  “And we can’t get Aadarshini to make the call for this?”

  Edwards shook his head. “As of right now, the President is currently directly involved in highly-sensitive negotiations with the Gra Valkan delegation in Cartalpas—even if we get her to pull out of the talks and get into contact, she won’t be able to give our forces in the Neutral Zone their orders in time. As you are next in the immediate line of succession, we therefore need you to make a decision now, sir.”

  Glancing at his wingman’s aircraft, Tabloid shook his head.

  “Well, Count, you’re the conman. Any suggestions on how we’re going to stall for time while our jailers decide how we’re going to die?”

  Spare 2 scoffed. “What, now you want me to take command of this little shitshow?”

  “Hey, I don’t have any other bright ideas at the moment either. Either we ask nicely, or we just send Champ over here to start shooting, I guess.”

  “Fine, fine…all right, here’s the plan: we wait for them to start talking with us, then claim radio interference due to magic particles or some other nonsense. Then we ask what they’re doing here, then say we’re going to have a chat with our superiors—if they start getting pissy, we claim radio interference again. If all else fails, let’s just go for broke and say we have nuclear weapons equipped or something like that.”

  Tabloid whistled. “Going for the nuclear approach already? Damn, alright—let’s just hope this doesn’t backfire on us, then—”

  “Osean aircraft, this is the Annorial Guardian Innana Squadron! You are interfering with an internal security operation of the Annorial Empire—leave this airspace or you will be fired upon!”

  “Well, I guess it’s time to find out—switching to an open frequency…”

  “I say again, you are interfering with an internal security operation of the Annorial Empire—leave this airspace or you will be fired upon!”

  “…this is…standby…radio…”

  Lady Velaris raised an eyebrow. “Some kind of interference? Poor signal?”

  “We don’t have any EW aircraft in the airspace; maybe they’re faking it, or the madar’s messing with conventional radio waves.” Frowning, Lord Velaris tried again. “Osean aircraft, do you read me?”

  “Annorial aircraft…conflicting frequencies…some kind of—”

  “—and welcome back to Radio 8492, where we have the Colonel McKinsey Victims, Survivors, & Mental Health Program! Have you been a victim of verbal abuse, unsafe working conditions, or subject to unhygienic and unethical confinement for minor offenses? We’re opening our hotline to provide our own therapeutic services to our callers now at 116 123; that’s 116 123—“

  Lord Velaris winced and swore loudly as he hastily began to adjust several dials on his mannacom, the deafeningly loud transmissions were quickly silenced as angry shouts could be heard from Throne’s background.

  “Osean aircraft, switch off your radios and comply with our instructions at once! We will not repeat ourselves—all barbarians who defy our rightful actions will be shot down, regardless of the consequences!”

  “Got a missile lock on the lead aircraft,” Lady Velaris confirmed. “Say the word, and those imbeciles will be fish food on the ocean floor—“

  “Stand by,” the noble warned his wife. “Throne, I need reconfirmation from you—we are cleared to engage these contacts?”

  “You are cleared to engage! Show these fools what it means to defy the Annorial Empire!”

  “Attention, Annorial aircraft! Do you read me?”

  Blinking in confusion and no small amount of annoyance, the Guardian turned to glance at his interlocutors. “Who is this?!”

  “This is Osean Air Force Base 444 Squadron, previously conducting a training exercise in the Neutral Zone prior to picking up a distress signal from an Annorial aircraft. They have requested political asylum under international law, and we are escorting them to a neutral airbase for processing—”

  Snarling, Lord Velaris began inputting several commands on his console and barked, “Silence, cur! We do not recognise your crude pretensions at civilized conduct nor do we care for them—that transport is being controlled by traitors to the Empire who are to be transported back to our lands and arrested for their crimes. Yield to our rightful claim, or we will open fire!”

  “Confirmed missile lock on all three fighters!”

  “Uhhh, no can do. We know you guys were the ones who killed Harling two years ago with those nukes of yours, so we brought our own—all of our planes within this part of the Neutral Zone are…currently equipped with nuclear warheads and are prepared to use them against any Annorial assets that threaten our own forces. Do not engage, or you will be the ones suffering the consequences—do you copy?”

  Lady Velaris paled. “They have what?!”

  Ayala sighed. “How long until we can get conventional air forces in the AO to force the Annorials to pull back?”

  “Reinforcements won’t arrive for another ten minutes,” Shepherd quickly replied. “Until then, the 444th are on their own.”

  Leaning forward, Senator Armstrong turned towards the Vice President. “Allowing these Annorials to defect would provide us with critical intel for the operations of the Empire. We would have an unprecedented inside look into Magicaregia itself, which would allow us to plan ahead for the next time they inevitably resume hostilities against Osea—”

  “—or aggravate the Annorial Emperor into kickstarting the war once again,” Speaker Legarda interjected. “Do you want to drop an international incident onto Kumari’s lap right at the very start of the largest diplomatic event in the New World?”

  “I should also point out that these experimental Su-37s are untested and in the hands of inexperienced penal units,” Secretary Edwards added. “Even if we outnumber these approaching fighters, we cannot guarantee that they will win the engagement—and General Resource may choose to charge us for damaging or losing their prototypes.”

  “International law is sacrosanct,” Armstrong pressed. “These defectors have asked for our protection, and we are compelled by our own standards to follow through—or we will be betraying our own principles as a nation, and the Annorials will never let President Kumari or the rest of the New World forget about it.”

  Legarda shot back, “And who’s to say the Annorials won’t stop at that transport? Who’s to say they won’t target our own planes next? Who’s to say they won’t hit Cartalpas next?”

  Edwards turned to Ayala. “The choice is yours, Vice President—shall we help them, or shall we let them die?”

  The Vice President’s eyes narrowed, quickly coming to a decision.

  “As if we ever had a choice. Bring these newcomers to our side of the planet—and shoot down the Annorials if they try to stop us.”

  “All right, dear, what’s the plan? Those warheads could easily be a bluff, but we’re not exactly in a position to find that out for ourselves with only two of us here!”

  “Throne, do we have any additional air units available for reinforcements?”

  “Standby, Innana Three. An additional squadron of Guardians are currently en route and will enter the area of operations in the next eight minutes—the Emperor is still authorizing you to strike down the traitors and their barbarian allies, but expedite your efforts to minimise the risk of friendly losses.”

  “Alright. My lady, did you bring the same loadout as I did?”

  Velaris glanced at her console. “Affimative—Comet 1-MAAFVs, with conventional AAFVs if the others don’t do the trick.”

  “Okay, this is what we’re going to do—you fire your missiles at the three fighters approaching us, and I’ll go for the first half of the other twelve aircraft. We use the advantage of surprise to eliminate as many of the fighters before they can deploy whatever nuclear-based weapons they might have on them, and take out the transport before high-tailing it out of here—the other flight of Guardians can take over from us with whatever numbers they have on them.”

  The two nobles’ eyes narrowed in determination—the parameters of the mission had now abruptly changed with core magic in play, and their actions at this very moment could determine whether or not the Empire they served still existed within the next twenty-four hours.

  “Missiles armed! Say the word!”

  “Spare 2, what the hell were you thinking with that line about nukes?! Do you realise what you’ve just done?!”

  “Hey, you asked us to buy for time—what else did you expect us to say at that point?!”

  A loud chorus of beeps interrupted the fierce argument between Count and Bandog; looking at his radar, Tabloid paled. “Missiles in the air! Annorial fighters have opened fire on us! Spare 2, Spare 1, evade!”

  “Damn it! Spare 2, evading!”

  “Spare 11, on the defensive!”

  “Flares aren't working! That missile’s going to hit—”

  An MAAFV missile struck the underbelly of Spare 1’s Terminator, detonating right at the heart of the fuselage and ripping holes into the two rear engines. Flailing uncontrollably out of the sky, the Su-37U’s pilot struggled to regain control of the aircraft as the two Pal Aurorae fighters shot past his wingmen and towards the Tu-144.

  “Spare 1 here; I’ve lost most of my instruments! Dumping munitions and preparing to eject!”

  “Negative, Spare 1! Your aircraft is more valuable than yourself—get out of the AO and head back to base! I don’t care if you die in the process; your death will be a rightful atonement for your crimes! All other fighters, stop those enemy birds from targeting the defectors!”

  “Damn you, Bandog! Spare 1, pulling out of the sortie!”

  Ignoring his prisoner’s expletives, the AWACS operator began barking orders to the rest of Spare Squadron. “Spare 3 and Spare 12, escort Spare 1 back to base. Spare 8 and Spare 9, turn around and intercept those fighters—Spare 2 and 11, get those missiles off your tail and get on their six. We’ll force them off the airliner and buy our defectors time to escape and reinforcements to arrive; all other aircraft, maintain your formation around the Tu-144!”

  “Copy, Bandog!” With a bloodthirsty cheer, Champ’s Terminator whirled around and ignited its afterburners in full pursuit, its pilot already eagerly searching for a missile lock against the Annorials—

  “Confirmed hit on one of the enemy fighters! The other two are evading the missiles I launched at them!”

  “Good enough! Focus your missiles on the other fighters and the Sylphid—as soon as that transport goes down, our mission will be as good as complete!”

  With seamless coordination between the seasoned duo, the Lord and Lady of Velaris both found their respective targets in a matter of seconds. A near-intuitive glance at each other was more than enough to signal each other’s readiness, a wordless gesture signalling weapons release—

  “Fox Three!”

  “Eight SPAMRAAMs just launched from those two Pal Aurorae! Spare Squadron, evade!”

  Blinking in momentary confusion, Champ quickly recognised the precarious situation he was in and quickly dumped a flurry of flares as he swerved away from the incoming onslaught of missiles. His wingman wasn’t so lucky, however.

  “Damn it, I—”

  Spare 9’s Terminator exploded in a fiery burst of orange, the wreckage tumbling into the distant ocean below. The sky above the now-deceased pilot’s former aircraft became dotted with countermeasures and smoke, the convicts making full use of their prototypes’ next-generation controls to desperately evade the fusillade of magical munitions as Innana Squadron soared unimpeded through the chaos—Count and Tabloid’s afterburners flared to life as the two followed in close pursuit, struggling to gain a precise lock on the Annorials in front of them amidst the sea of friendly radar contacts.

  “Damn it, it’s no use! Switching to guns—we need to hit their engines!”

  Glancing at the Pal Aurorae ahead, Count’s eyes widened. “Spare 15, look out! Those fighters are gunning for you!”

  The sole remaining escort of the Annorial defectors not actively shaking off Innana’s AAMs, Spare 15 turned around to see his attackers. “Crap, get them off me! One of them just fired a missile—”

  A Comet missile put paid to his attempts at evading, setting off all the munitions on Spare 15’s wings and sending the disintegrating remains of the Terminator careening off towards oblivion.

  “Damn it, we just lost Spare 15!”

  Lord Velaris grinned. “Those traitors are now all ours for the taking. My lady, if you would do the honors?”

  Matching her husband’s predatory look, the Lady smirked back and reached for her controls. “Innana Four, Fox—”

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Scowling furiously as he concentrated his efforts into securing a guaranteed hit, the whine of a confirmed missile lock registered in Count’s ears for only the briefest of seconds before he released his own munitions. “Spare 2, Fox Two!”

  “Spare 11, guns guns guns!”

  “Innana Three and Four, on your tail! Evade!”

  “What?!” Lord Velaris whirled around in confusion before quickly recognising the two Osean fighters rapidly closing in on their rear. “Feyre, abort! There’s a missile coming in on your six!”

  “I’ve already launched the missiles! Damn it, I’m on the defensive!”

  The disconcerting thud of gunfire striking his aircraft could be heard even from the cockpit as Innana Three narrowly dodged the Su-37U soaring past, machine guns at full burst—quietly swearing in anticipation of the complaints his maintenance crew would undoubtedly give him later, the Guardian forced his attention towards maneuvering his aircraft on the Osean’s rear and returning the favor all while glancing at his wife’s efforts at shaking off her own pursuer.

  “Can you see where your missiles are going?”

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  “Get this barbarian off my tail and I’ll take a look! A bit busy here!”

  Reluctantly giving up the pursuit of his own target, Lord Velaris turned around and quickly sent another missile at the second bird—causing the pilot to swerve away from his wife and focus his attention on his own immediate survival—and glanced at the Sylphid. “Two missiles—they’re going for the traitors!”

  The Sylphid released a stream of magical flares and slowly began to turn to evade, but it wasn’t enough: one Comet exploded harmlessly amidst the countermeasures, but the second struck the airliners’s already-damaged right engines in a bright flash of blue and white.

  “Yes, we did it!”

  “Not yet,” Lady Velaris warned. “Look—only one engine from both sides of the Sylphids are still operational. We need to take out one more of them to finish the job!”

  Sure enough, the airliner had visibly shut off half of its engines and extinguished whatever fires had been caused by the damage to its propulsions—it was slower and easier to hit, but it still flew. Innana Three scowled, turning to his wingman.

  “All right, turn around for another pass—”

  “I’ll be damned if I let you idiots have another go at our guests here!” On the open channel, some boisterous human began shouting at the two Guardians, the pilot’s aircraft in question rapidly approaching with conspicuously large missiles at hand. “My blood’s boiling, and you’re just the right folks I need for a good fight!”

  And right behind the Osean in question, several identical fighters were following in close pursuit—the rest of Spare Squadron had shaken off the initial wave of missiles and were now closing in, intent on returning the favour.

  “Listen up, Spare Squadron—we’ve got personal confirmation from Bright Hill for us to eliminate all Annorial fighters that pose a threat to our defecting aircraft. There are ten of you versus the mere two of them—don’t make this any harder than it has to be, you hear?”

  Count chuckled. “Right’o. All right, boys, who wants to bet on me killing them all first?”

  “Ten quid on one of them, thirty for a full sweep! And five on Count not even bagging a single one!”

  “Hey!”

  High Roller laughed. “You’re on! You’d better get that money ready, cause I’m cashing in!”

  A stream of HVAAs erupted from the experimental Terminators, streaking towards their targets—

  From the underside of Lady Velaris’s Pal Aurora, a flurry of countermeasures erupted as a cylindrical round device detached and began hurtling towards the largest concentration of missiles. Reaching its target, the device released a singular pulse and went silent—

  “EMP!”

  Spare Squadron’s aircraft lightly shuddered at the blast but remained operational; their missiles, on the other hand, powered down and hurtled past their targets without their internal mechanisms to guide them, either exploding harmlessly mid-air or descending into the Ammoran Ocean below. Loud swearing could be heard from the comms as the convicts quickly double-checked their Terminators’ equipment for any damage.

  “All systems are operational!”

  “Yeah, but those two bandits are still in the air! Damn it, Bandog, it’s looking like a dogfight for this one!”

  Bandog nodded, quickly moving to regain control of the situation. “All right! Spare 2, Spare 8, Spare 11, and Spare 6—achieve air superiority at any cost; all other fighters, shield the Tu-144 from any more attacks! Use your own planes as shields if you have to!”

  “Won’t General Resource charge us extra for damaging their prototypes?”

  “I’ll deal with the paperwork, you focus on not dying,” the jailor shot back. “Remember, your lives are merely secondary to the objective—your deaths are but mere atonement for your crimes. Now get going!”

  Full Band scowled, but didn’t argue any further. “Roger, moving to engage.”

  “Hey, those Pal Aurorae are firing again! High Roller, get some countermeasures!”

  Spare 7, located at the rear of the Annorial airliner, fired a round of chaff and flares to draw Innana’s missiles away from the target. The feint worked—the pair shot uselessly to the side and detonated, their fireballs almost immediately split in half afterwards as two Terminators shot past and fired back at their assailants.

  “Spare 6, Spare 8, Fox Two!”

  Two pairs of Sidewinders shot towards the Pal Aurorae; Lord Velaris released his own EMP device at the incoming projectiles, releasing a singular magical pulse and taking out the missiles—

  “Spare 2, Spare 11, Fox Three!”

  Another set of HVAAs made their own run for the enemy fighters, causing the two to deploy their own flares and weave in the sky to dodge the munitions. Eyes narrowing, Innana Three fired his Comets—

  Bandog froze. “Missiles inbound! Evade!”

  “Damn it, on the defensive!”

  Count and Full Band peeled off, firing their countermeasures and abandoning the immediate pursuit—Champ and Tabloid charged onwards regardless, almost ignorant of the rapidly closing distance between themselves and the missiles and the pilots who fired them as the whine of a positive missile lock finally made itself present—

  “Locked on! Spare 11, Fox Two, Fox Three! Dumping flares!”

  “Hang on, I’ve almost got it—”

  Eyes widening, Full Band yelled, “Champ, you’re not going to make it! Abort, abort!”

  “Don’t tell me what to do! I’ve got this! Firing everything I got!”

  “Champ!”

  “Get ready to pay up, cause I’m cashing in! Guns, guns, g—”

  Several things happened in that particular moment.

  As Spare 8’s Terminator fired a stream of point-blank machine gun fire at the Pal Aurora a mere hundred meters on his front, a Comet missile struck the belly of the Su-37. This resulted in a fatal detonation within the experimental fighter’s engines, in turn setting off the remaining missiles stored on its wings and permanently shattering the airframe. However, at that same moment, the stream of bullets from the doomed prototype struck deep within the canards and fuselage of Innana Three’s aircraft, dealing critical damage to her propulsion systems—a pair of Sparrows likewise struck Innana Four’s underbelly, ripping into the weapons bays and its payload of missiles.

  Within seconds, Champ’s aircraft disintegrated into a spectacular conflagration of fire and debris, and his two foes found their aircraft critically damaged and limping—and surrounded by an entire squadron of angry Oseans eager to avenge their fallen wingman.

  Lady Velaris winced as the shudders from the impact of the Osean missiles subsided, hurriedly glancing at her partner’s aircraft. “Rhys! Rhys, are you all right?”

  “…rrgh…nothing a day in the infirmary won’t fix…all right, propulsion and manoeuvring are still operational, but my weapons are offline. How about you?”

  “Engines are damaged, I’m bleeding fuel, and some of my control surfaces are inoperational. We’re going to need to pull out, or else we’re not making it out of this engagement alive!”

  Innana Three cursed their misfortune and turned to the mannacomm. “Throne, do you hear me? We’re aborting the attack; we’re outnumbered and are taking too many hits!”

  “Roger, Innana Squadron. Have you destroyed the traitor’s aircraft yet?”

  “Negative, but we’ve made their Osean collaborators pay dearly for their insolence—a third of the enemy fighters are either downed or exiting the airspace as we speak. Get the reinforcements to finish the job for us!”

  A new voice unexpectedly barked out, cutting through the static of the mannacomm: “No need for Throne to tell us that—this is Nammu Squadron, reporting in! You can thank us and the gods later that the Sorceress and her Disciples have arrived!”

  Guardian Nammu Squadron — Ammoran Ocean Neutral Zone, April 22, 2022

  While Innana was known for her unparalleled ability to marshal her forces and their vast supplies to wherever in the battlefield they were needed, Nammu was a mighty master of the arcane arts—more powerful and skilled in the field of magic than even the greatest mages of what would eventually become the Holy Milishial Empire itself, her unmatched wrath in the battlefield shattered the skies themselves and ripped into what seemed like the very fabric of reality itself. Only twelve mages ever received the ultimate privilege of earning her tutelage, becoming her most devoted followers and almost just as feared in combat—Nammu Squadron honored their namesake and her disciples with their own unique skills in the field of magic, enhancing their already-considerable prowess as the most elite pilots of the Annorials’ air force with their specialised Pal Aurorae 4s.

  The original Sorceress and the Disciples who stood by her were renowned through legend as rambunctious both in the skies and on the ground, and the thirteen pilots reinforcing the Lord and Lady of Velaris were no different—whoops and cheers could be heard on the radio as Nammu Squadron soared at breakneck speed towards the nine remaining enemy jets and the rogue Sylphid they were escorting, weapons at the ready and waiting for the order to fire. With a savage grin, Nammu One began addressing the Oseans at large on an open channel.

  “Insignificant barbarians! Understand that you now face the insurmountable might of the Annorial Empire, blessed by the light of our Ancestors—you will submit to our commands and surrender the foul traitors within your company, or suffer the consequences of provoking our righteous wrath. We are the masters of magic and unmatched in the skies—do not test us, and do not presume to know better than your superiors! Now make haste and begone!”

  Within her aircraft, the rumble of magic-infused lightning waiting to be unleashed began to sparkle from the weapons bays of the approaching fighters—matched with the jeers of the Sorceress’s companions, the squadron of Guardians pressed forward in anticipation.

  “Well, shit. What the hell is it with every single Elysian we’ve met having some kind of superiority complex?”

  “Beats me! Hey, Bandog, you heard that wench—what’s the call?”

  The AWACS operator smirked. “Hmph, are you convicts not man enough to answer her challenge? Engage and either eliminate the incoming bogies or get them away from the Tu-144 long enough for our visitors to evacuate the airspace—you’ve got five minutes to make as much noise as possible before the regular forces arrive.”

  “What about the prototypes? Are we still trying to keep them intact?”

  “Consider their survival to be a bonus objective to staying alive yourselves. Now get going and engage the targets—we don’t want to keep the pretty lady waiting now, do we?”

  Spare 2 shuddered. “Crazy women ain’t exactly my type, but fine—engaging!”

  With close precision, the remaining fighters of Spare Squadron fired their AMRAAMs simultaneously at the thirteen contacts—

  From the underside of the Sorceress’s Pal Aurora, a pair of devices extended outwards to face the incoming storm of missiles. Glowing brightly with raw magical power, the spherical objects began to crackle and sparkle as the Osean pilots were forced to avert their eyes—

  White lightning shot outwards from the aircrafts of Nammu Squadron and arced towards the missiles, shortening out their complex mechanisms through sheer electrical overload and resulting in the storm of AMRAAMs to either explode mid-flight or fall harmlessly from the skies. The thirteen fighters shot forward past the small fireballs, unscathed and closing in for the kill.

  The Sorceress smirked at her foes’ feeble display. So they thought that such a simple stunt would be enough to stop her?

  Full Band sighed. “Of course it’s not going to be that easy. Why is it never that easy?”

  “Hey, we wouldn’t be here if it was just a matter of firing missiles and hoping that worked!”

  “That was rhetorical, Tabloid. So, dogfight?”

  Count shook his head resignedly, already running a quick diagnostics check on his systems as he prepared for the oncoming assault. “Well, just like every other engagement that seems to be happening ever since we ended up here—yup, a dogfight.”

  “Final call on bets over who stays alive then—and no takebacks about Champ!”

  “Fine—since that last bet cost me fifty bucks, I’m betting another fifty bucks on me surviving!”

  Whistling in approval, High Roller decided to take up his wingman’s wager. “Feeling confident, then? Alright, you’re on—let’s see if we make it out of here alive, and figure out who wins what later!”

  WIth afterburners going into full power, Spare Squadron shot forward to meet the enemy, matching the Annorials’ battle cries with their own cheers.

  “Spare Squadron, engage!”

  The skies above the Ammoran Ocean transformed into a storm of explosions, lightning, and contrails as convicts and warriors alike danced to the sound of war. Missile and magic arced and soared between Osean Terminators and Annorial Pal Aurorae, each pilot giving as good as they got in a fiery display of their abilities in the air; the Guardians’ record in the skies was unmatched, but Spare Squadron still gave as good as they got despite being outgunned and outnumbered—in spite of their status as penal units, their own skills as pilots of the OADF were still nothing to scoff at.

  Count winced as two Annorial missiles exploded mere yards away from his aircraft and a crackle of magical lightning briefly shortened out his HUD, struggling to maintain missile lock amidst formidable EW interference and the aerobatic dexterity of his opponents. “Damn, it’s no use! I’m switching to guns—I can’t even get half of my instruments to work against these guys!”

  “Yeah, if you can even reach them! I’ve only scored a few hits on my target’s engines, and he’s still dancing around like it’s nothing!”

  “Hah, is that all you can do, Oseans? I’ve seen better flying from the lowlife scum we use as target practice!”

  Scowling at the unwanted taunting, the conman barked back, “Piss off, you winged bitch!”

  “How the hell is that woman still in my ears?! I’ve muted that specific frequency, and yet she’s still broadcasting!”

  “Full Band, adjust your radio to the settings I’m sending you,” Bandog ordered. “Everyone else, do the same—only I get to question your abilities to atone for your crimes; now keep these newcomers off of our tail before our reinforcements arrive.”

  “Well, how much longer do we have to be bait for these bastards? We’re outnumbered and losing planes with each passing minute!”

  The AWACS operator was audibly unfazed by his prisoners’ protests. “You are atoning for your crimes with your sacrifices in defense of our defectors. Why are you so concerned about ensuring your survival?”

  “What about these planes, damn it?! Surely at least you’d be a bit more concerned about keeping the prototypes intact!”

  “Oh, those. Try to land gently on the water when you get shot down—it’ll be easier for General Resource to recover the wreckage afterwards.”

  Count scowled. “Oh, give me a break!”

  With a bright flash, another Terminator burst into flames as a combination of Annorial magical lightning and a lucky missile found their mark. Slowly but surely, the Guardians were wearing down the Osean convicts—the Annorials’ jeers were growing louder on the radio for those who hadn’t been able to switch frequencies amidst the chaos, and Spare Squadron’s frustration grew as their morale continued to plummet.

  “Another man down! That means there’s only six of us left!”

  “Bandog,” Tabloid yelled, “we haven’t even managed to take more than one or two of these enemy fighters down! Where are those reinforcements?!”

  “Maintain the assault until I say otherwise. Deserters will be punished.”

  “Damn it, we can’t even break off or risk having these fighters shoot us down in the process! We’re damned if we desert, damned if we stick around!”

  “And you think that you deserve otherwise? Continue the mission!”

  “Spare 2, chaff and flares are empty!”

  Another scream could be heard as yet another Spare pilot was shot down from the skies. “Bandog! If we all go down today, let me make it very clear how much we all hate your guts, you son of a bitch!”

  A loud beep, unlike that of the constant alarms from Count’s controls, suddenly drew his attention from the massacre around him—a new group of signals from his radar appeared to the east. Briefly glancing away from the Pal Aurorae on his tail, his eyes widened as he saw a stream of contrails approaching—

  “Bandog, check your radar! We’ve got incoming!”

  Quickly inspecting his own instruments to confirm Spare 2’s report, Bandog’s attention focused on eight radar signatures on an intercept course with his men and the Annorials they were engaging—recognising the distinctive cross-sections of the planes in question, a seed of hope began to grow from within the AWACS operator once more.

  “Spare Squadron, we’ve got incoming: two Su-47s, with two YR-99 Forneus and four MQ-101 escorts inbound. They’re from General Resource!”

  A pair of Berkuts garbed in monochromatic dazzle camouflage soared in close formation, their pilots manoeuvring alongside each other with pinpoint accuracy honed from years of experience and practice. One of countless mercenary squadrons within the umbrella of the Defense Force dedicated to protecting the assets and other economic interests of General Resource, Mimic was just as equally known for their abilities in the field of air combat as their fiery personalities—the two siblings now streaked across the skies at breakneck speed towards the beleaguered prototypes their superiors sought to preserve.

  Scream turned towards their third and fourth companions—some freshly-graduated cadets from the recently-reestablished GR Defense Academy. Against her and Rage’s wishes, General Resource had lumped the two with the highly acerbic and uncooperative brother-and-sister duo; apparently the higher-ups were also looking to test some other new tech in the area (especially with such an unexpected opportunity to see if their fancy toys actually worked in live combat)---the fact that people were actively dying and the ramifications of the current dogfight would probably be felt across the New World within the next twenty-four hours apparently hadn’t quite registered in their minds as something worth their time.

  “Hey, new blood! Corporate says that you’re apparently good at this, so you’d better live up to those expectations, cause we’re not babysitting you! Don’t embarrass us, you hear?!”

  An affirmative signal from the lead Forneus fighter beeped on Scream’s HUD.

  “Don’t bully the fresh meat too much, Scream,” Rage gently chided his sibling. “They’ve got their own jobs, and we’ve got ours—it’s not exactly our problem if they decide to get themselves killed.”

  “Hmmph, fine—well, well, well, look at this party! My radar’s all lit up like a Christmas tree! Rage, can we start killing now?”

  A savage grin signalled Rage’s own blend of mania emerging as he nodded to his sibling. “It’s time. Just as we practiced—do it, Scream!”

  “Yeehaw!”

  With a flurry of Sidewinders, Mimic Squadron crashed into the maelstrom of fighters and missiles in an audacious display—two Pal Aurorae were caught in their entrance and exploded into flames, their wreckage tumbling uncontrollably into the waves below. The two Berkuts paid no attention to their fallen prey and sliced through the firestorm, firing wildly yet methodically dismantling the attack of their magical foes.

  “Look out, incoming! How did they manage to get the drop on us?!”

  “Nammu Nine and Thirteen are down! I see parachutes, but they’re both out of the fight!”

  “Get behind those two intruders and return the favour!”

  As Nammu Squadron attempted to regroup, a singular Pal Aurora weaved behind the first newcomer and quickly began to establish a missile lock—

  Nammu Four blinked in confusion. “Hey, what the hell? My interface just went haywire—several targets just popped up around these two new fighters!”

  “EW interference! Looks like these newcomers also have some additional tricks up their sleeve—those bastards, don’t they realise that only we have the right to pull off such audacious feats?!”

  Looking behind Nammu Four, the Sorceress’s eyes widened. “Vesta, right behind you!”

  “What? Oh, Ancestors above—”

  Before Nammu Four had a chance to react, the second Berkut had fired a pair of Sidewinders at her Pal Aurora; two explosions right on the fighter’s underbelly ripped through the fuselage, which quickly began to disintegrate and burst into flames.

  “Vesta!”

  “Damn it! Nammu Four in the blind, ejecting!”

  The Sorceress cursed. “You’ll pay for that! All fighters, reform on me—these two newcomers are a cut above the rest! Leave the other Oseans alone for now; we’ll deal with them once their brethren are eliminated from the picture—”

  A cry of terror interrupted Nammu One’s orders. “My lady, the other reinforcements! They’re just as skilled as the ones who came with them! I’ve got two smaller enemy aircraft on my tail, and they’re not giving up the chase!”

  Quickly glancing at the airshow around her, the Annorial ace began barking orders to her wingmen once more. “Nammu Three and Twelve, go and help Kaya before she gets shot down; Five, Six, and Seven, go for the transport and take out anyone who tries to stop you! Everyone else, on me—we’re taking on these two bandits!”

  “Hey, you! Convicts! Who’s your commanding officer?”

  Count blinked. “What the—”

  “This is AWACS Bandog to the GRDF fighters, in command of the Air Force Base 444 Squadron. Are you the reinforcements we requested?”

  The female voice scoffed. “What does it look like, guard dog? Tell your criminals to pull out from the sortie and head back to base—Corporate wants the remaining prototypes back for their flight data, and we’ll be taking over escort duties for your defectors along with the F-35s inbound from the Kestrel.”

  Bandog nodded. “Roger, GRDF. Spare Squadron, you heard the woman; disengage where possible and begin heading back for the Sarius Islands. Got it?”

  Full Band winced as his countermeasures caused a missile from the Pal Aurora on his rear to detonate mere yards away from his rear. “Yeah, once these Annorials let up—which isn’t happening anytime soon!”

  “Same here, those fighters are still spewing lightning bolts and missiles every time I try to leave the airspace. Someone lend me a hand here!”

  “Sorry, High Roller,” Tabloid replied, grunting from the strain of weaving through a pair of missiles and the enemy fighters that fired them, “but I’ve got my hands full here, too! Count, you free by any chance?”

  “Hah, as if,” Spare 2 drawled. “I’m bailing out of here—you guys can take care of them yourself!”

  “And off he goes, the asshole!”

  “Damn, you guys are as useless as Corporate told us! Scream, take out that bandit on my tail and let’s give these jailbirds some space to fly home!”

  “On it!”

  A pair of QAAMs put paid to the enemy fighter on Rage’s six as the two Berkuts circled towards the remaining members of Spare Squadron, a stream of missiles and gunfire forcing their pursuers to break off or risk getting hit. Confused shouts of anger could be heard on the open frequencies as the Annorials struggled to regain control of the situation, their would-be-prey taking the opportunity to make their retreat from the battlefield.

  “That did the trick! Hey, give that crazy punk chick our thanks, Bandog!”

  Scream’s right eye twitched. “What did you idiots just call me?!”

  Glancing at his console, Bandog’s eyes widened. “We’ve got three enemy fighters making a break for the Tu-144! Stop them, ASAP!”

  “Wait, the other fighters are forming up on the aircraft’s flanks!”

  Linked to the two leading Forneus fighters, the four MQ-101s following them functioned both as an escort detail and an autonomous fighting force—a complex artificial intelligence program was continuously running calculations to determine the best course of action against the latest enemy movements while protecting their human controllers, who in turn gave them new orders to adhere to depending on the situation at hand. Combined with flight data gathered from countless aces and test pilots over the years, the UAVs possessed a degree of skill in air combat not unlike the human pilots they were protecting—and as their sensors detected the incoming Annorial fighters, the drones began to peel off from their prior formation to intercept the would-be-pursuers of the defecting aircraft.

  A pair of UAVs observed a singular Pal Aurora maneuvering away from the approaching flight and decided to pursue the opponent, firing an initial salvo of missiles before closing in with their guns. The other pair fired their Sidewinders in coordination with the lead Forneus’s AMRAAMs at the remaining two Pal Aurorae, forcing the Annorials to break off with countermeasures and a crackle of their lightning weapons to confuse the approaching missiles. Seeing their targets survive the initial wave, the two UAVs paired with a singular fighter each and shot forwards to finish their assigned tasks, working in tandem with the Forneus pilots each step of the way.

  Nammu Six and Seven each spun in the sky as a stream of gunfire and missiles narrowly missed their respective airframes, attempting to shake off their pursuers or maneuver behind to return the favour; the GRDF matched their moves, twisting and spinning with curves and angles that would render an inexperienced pilot unconscious within seconds—the two sides appeared evenly-matched, and confidence began to be quickly replaced with frustration and anger as the Guardians found even their most audacious aerial stunts replicated and outdone. All the while, the Pal Sylphid retreated further and further away from their reach, the chances of even the mighty aces of the Annorial Empire catching up becoming slimmer with each passing second.

  “My lady, it’s no use! We need an extra pair of hands—are those two bandits posing that much of an inconvenience to you?!”

  “Yes, Fallon, they are! How dare they—”

  A lucky hit from Rage’s missiles struck the Sorceress’s Pal Aurora, causing alarms to blare across her cockpit—wincing in pain, it took a brief moment for her to regain her bearings even as cries of shock could be heard from her disciples.

  “Who dares,” the flight leader shouted in astonished anger, “who dares strike me like that?! Which one of these inferior pilots took that shot?!”

  “One of the striped ones, my lady! Its companion keeps targeting anyone who tries to get behind it!”

  “Well, take out that one first! Three and Twelve, have you shot down the planes targeting Kaya?”

  “On it! Launching!”

  A stream of AAFVs were released from Three and Twelve’s weapons bays, barrelling towards the MQ-101s. A flurry of countermeasures drove away the majority of the projectiles, but two found their mark and struck, detonating and destroying the two UAVs pursuing Ten. The three pilots whooped and cheered, moving to rejoin the wider battle.

  “Two targets splashed! My lady, we’re heading back to you—”

  “We’ve got more missiles heading towards you three! Look out!”

  Four AMRAAMs from the second Forneus—released mid-pursuit of Nammu Seven—struck home and dealt critical damage to the three aircraft; Nammu Twelve’s aircraft exploded as its pilot ejected.

  “How the hell are two planes beating us?! We’re the Guardians, the greatest aces of the New World!”

  “My lady, we might need to see if Innana can lend us a hand!”

  “Good call! Throne, this is Nammu One—we’ve taken casualties and the enemy reinforcements are forcing us away from the traitor Sylphid! We need either reinforcements or further orders!”

  “This is Throne to all Nammu fighters—withdraw from the airspace immediately. I repeat, withdraw from the airspace immediately! The Emperor is satisfied with the results of the current engagement; our diplomats in Cartalpas will take things from here.”

  The Sorceress, confused, frowned. “Retreat? But the fight’s just started, and the traitors are getting away!”

  “A scenario that His Holiness has anticipated—are you presuming to know better than your superior?”

  “What?! No!”

  “Then heed his words—the Oseans have paid in blood for their sacrilege, and our fallen compatriots will soon be avenged. Head to the following coordinates and await further orders. Is that understood?”

  A voice called out from one of the Sorceress’s remaining wingmen, “New radar contacts to our east—more Osean stealth fighters on an intercept course! We’re going to be outnumbered in a few minutes!”

  Seeing the futility of pursuing the attack, Nammu One was forced to concede the point. “Damn! Everyone, form up and follow me—we’ve done as much as we can here. We’ll get them next time, I promise you that!”

  “They’re retreating! Thank god, they’re pulling back!”

  The surviving members of Spare Squadron cheered as the Annorial fighters began to peel off into the distance, clearly spooked off by the F-35s now soaring past the remaining Terminators. Their casualties had been astonishingly high—only a third of the fifteen penal fighters remained in the AO, the rest either shot down or forced to retreat—but against all odds they had not only survived the enemy assault but sent them running through some unholy combination of their own abilities and the technology wielded in their favor. Even Bandog sounded somewhat relieved as he began to speak once more over the radio, reestablishing order to what remained of his unit.

  “All remaining enemy units are retreating or no factor, Spare Squadron. The regular forces will pick things up where we left off and escort the defectors to a secure area for interrogation, and General Resource will recover their prototypes upon our arrival back at base. You’ve all done well—I think we’ve earned ourselves a bit of a break, gentlemen. RTB.”

  Tabloid whistled. “Is that appreciation I’m hearing from you, Bandog? I must have died and gone to heaven!”

  “Don’t push your luck, Spare 11. The only way you’ll ever end up there is when you’ve finally atoned for your crimes—I can say, though, that you lot might have just taken one big step towards that end with what’s happened here today.”

  With a scoff, Count nonchalantly dismissed his jailor’s words. “Save your praise for someone who cares, Bandog. All I’m looking forward to right now is a warm shower and a place for a long, quiet nap after all this nonsense—”

  “Hey, count us in on that! I’m sweating all over; I think it’s from all the stunts we just pulled to stay alive!”

  High Roller paused. “Hey, do you think they’ll charge us the laundry bill for these seats?”

  The surviving members of Spare Squadron paused, realisation dawning upon them.

  “Oh, no. Bandog, can you check with—”

  “Please, after all that?!”

  “I swear, if we end up in solitary for fouling up these planes with our poor hygiene—”

  Orantha Castle, Magicaregia, Annorial Empire — April 22, 2022

  High General Duran sighed, turning to face the Emperor. “Your Holiness, the traitor and his co-conspirators have escaped our grasp. Their Sylphid is now being escorted by Osean fighters as we speak, and he will be able to lend his voice to the inferior peoples’ efforts to resist our rule—”

  “An outcome that, however regrettable, is still something that we have planned for in advance, High General,” Zarathostra calmly replied. “Director Bachus, has the delegation to Cartalpas been informed of the situation?”

  The Inferior Affairs Department head nodded in confirmation. “Ambassador Krunch has received our data package and will convey our message to the nations present, Your Holiness. The pre-prepared countermeasures are also in place should the inferiors object to our demands—we should actually be able to receive the broadcast of the proceedings from our diplomatic staff as well shortly.”

  The Emperor nodded, satisfied at his subordinates’ efforts. “Excellent. This battle and Osea’s subsequent harboring of the treasonous Apostate should provide us with a valid means of abolishing the humiliating ceasefire between our two nations at the bare minimum—and the victories we have scored against their forces will also be of great use towards reminding our people and the rest of the world that these Oseans are not infallible.”

  Frowning, Duran carefully interrupted Zarathostra’s musings. “Your Holiness, forgive me for my inquisitiveness, but what exactly is our strategy to ensure final victory against the inferior nations? Surely our experience against the Oseans would have demonstrated that our own forces are still lacking against their technologies in an open conflict—”

  “A valid argument, High General,” the Emperor conceded, “but our enemies no longer have the element of surprise; this engagement shows that our forces are now ready for whatever moves they choose to make and will react accordingly—and besides, we have other means of ensuring final victory that do not rely on conventional forms of warfare.” Turning his attention to Directors Vorus and Zamuras, he continued, “Are the beacon recovery and subversion teams ready to begin the next stage of operations?”

  “They are, my Emperor. The teams all await your signal to commence their efforts.”

  “Very well. With the nations of Elysia disunited and divided by our efforts, their attempts to halt us in our restoration of the Ancestors will undoubtedly fail—and the Oseans themselves will soon find their attention drawn to the distractions we have created. My loyal subjects, the time for retribution is almost at hand—let us not falter at this crucial moment!”

  The radio next to High General Duran unexpectedly burst to life—the frantic shouts of the Guardians could be heard as harsh static and a sporadic, unholy whine interrupted their broadcasts. An aide who had been carefully listening to the transmissions with headphones winced in pain and cried as he hastily pulled off his equipment, his eardrums bleeding as a nearby medic quickly ran to him and dragged him out of the room. Frowning at the sight as confused murmurs began to grow across the room, Zarathostra turned to Duran.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  Leaning intently towards the offending device and carefully listening to its broadcast, the High General paused as the blood drained from his face. “Your Holiness, it appears that the retreating Guardians have been attacked by an unknown fighter—and they’re taking additional casualties!”

  The Emperor and his staff froze. “What?”

  On the radio, the two pilots of Innana Squadron could hear the cries of anger and shock from their colleagues as the surviving aces of Nammu were struck down one by one. Flying alongside each other, the two nobles glanced at each other with anxiety as the voices in the background seemed to disappear with each passing minute.

  “Sorrel, that plane’s about to close in on your six!”

  “I can’t shake him, I can’t shake him—”

  “That beam of light just vaporised Nammu Three’s aircraft! Gods above, I can’t even see if she’s still alive!”

  “She’s ejected! I see a parachute!”

  “Stop dawdling and get out of that thing’s sight! It’s going to get you next—”

  “We just lost Imogen and Vesta! That aircraft just struck them down without even a moment of hesitation!”

  “No, no, no! Not me, not me, gods, please not me—”

  “No! They got Innana Six, too!”

  “What in the name of the Ancestors is that?! It’s like a metal creature, like a falcon—”

  “Get on that thing’s six and shoot it down before it massacres the rest of us!”

  “It’s no use! Not even our lightning’s having an effect on it!”

  “Then get a look and see what squadron that plane belongs to! We’ll have our boys in Magicaregia find this pilot and return the favour!”

  “Wait—that sign—oh, gods—”

  “What is it, Asterin? Who is it?!”

  “It’s…it’s just as Enlil Two herself said—it’s the Reaper of the Skies itself!”

  “Look out! Look out—”

  Having heard enough, Lord Velaris grabbed his radio, horror creeping into his voice. “Nammu Squadron, respond! Do you need assistance? Lady Sorceress, respond!”

  Static greeted his shouts. Lady Velaris’s hand rose to her mouth in dread as her consort continued to desperately call out to their fellow Guardians.