Chapter 49
The Fallen Angel piloted by Mastema ramped up its output and charged straight at me.
"This isn't my fault."
It was a fight forced upon me—an act of God, really. I preemptively fed that excuse to Linne to head off any nagging, then dove into combat myself. Or at least, I tried to.
From what I could see, that thing had no weapons whatsoever.
Fighting me barehanded or something?
The machine looked hideous, parts scattered everywhere, internals exposed like some zombie. Cables dangled loosely, black inner frames gleaming through the wreckage. It was almost scary, in a way.
"If you'd brought out the Fallen Angel, we wouldn't even have a proper fight."
-[Why hold back? That's not ladylike. Show me that gutsy spirit from blasting your sniper cannon point-blank!]
Whoosh, whoosh!! The crumbling wreck maneuvered wildly, keeping pace with NOUGHT. It swung its fists haphazardly, wreaking havoc. Boosters looked ready to detach at any second. The generator blazed with light spilling beyond its armor, on the verge of explosion. That ghostly machine glowed blue all over, amplifying its spectral vibe.
No need to overthink it.
Should I just smash it here in one go? I'd panicked into defensive maneuvers, but rationally, nothing had changed. Enemy shows up—you destroy it.
Current loadout: submachine gun, Big Shot, two missiles.
Same build as when I took down Don Quixote's Rosinante. I'd picked up the shotgun but forgotten to equip it.
But this'll do.
I raked the submachine gun across Mastema's machine, closing in tight. Bare hands against firearms... it seemed unfair at a glance.
Bang!!
-[Too slow! Full of openings!!]
True to its ragged form, Mastema's mobility was insane. Not quite supersonic like the Watchdogs, but damn close. It burst from my sight in an instant, striking from the side or rear with martial arts blows that hit hard—no joke.
Low odds, but...
Bang! The moment Mastema entered my range, it burst again. Just like before, vanishing with a blue afterimage.
But at the same instant—
Kaboom! I spun wildly in place and fired the charged Big Shot.
-[Looking the wrong way? Over here!]
A heavy thud hit from behind. I mixed in bursts erratically, maneuvering at random. Bang, bang!! No idea who I was dancing with. Like a waltz, whirling amid blue afterimages, firing at the trails it left behind. Forward, into blind spots. Not expecting hits—just spraying bullets everywhere.
-[Damn, girl, you're a whirlwind! Doing ballet or what? You okay up there?]
Laughter tinged Mastema's voice. He sounded thrilled.
And.
Fun.
I was enjoying it too. This moonlit dance, lethal bullets flying as we spun with the enemy. Not an experience you'd get just anywhere.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!! Good thing it was a submachine gun—tight firing rate. Wherever the muzzle pointed, even briefly, bullets scattered to cover blind spots. Screech, clank! A few of those stray rounds chipped Mastema's armor.
Clunk! It exploited my reload gap, stabbing at my opening.
Vreeee— I charged Big Shot and fired.
-[Whoa!]
Not the obvious path—I whipped around backward at the trigger pull, slamming it in unexpectedly. Blue afterimage lingered, but the trajectory wobbled.
-[Grr, stings the side. You wield some filthy weapons, kid.]
Scrap heap or not, its durability checked out decently. I'd allowed few hits, but true to form, Mastema's machine was already groaning.
-[Would've preferred a proper machine for this. Shame.]
Mastema said it like a sudden recollection.
-[Come to think of it, last time was the same, huh? Neither of us at full strength. I remember thinking we should clash properly sometime.]
"No excuses after it's over."
-[Haha, 'course not, girl. Not at full, but I've got my strengths too.]
Fair point. The machine he rode now danced subsonic speeds, flirting with sonic at peaks. Impressive it held together in that state—but more worrying was the pilot. Same thought I'd had facing the Watchdogs.
Can a pilot even endure that power?
Instantaneous G-forces alone had to top dozens. Not just blacking out—your body could turn to mush physically.
-[Come on! I can do more!]
But no such strain in Mastema's voice. Sounded fresher than before. So I played along, ignoring it for now.
It was fun, but.
The moonlit waltz couldn't last. Never meant to drag on.
Thud!!
-[Urgh...]
My durability at 70%. Around then, Mastema's machine finally gave out and crashed.
-[Damn... if the machine were better...]
"No blaming gear."
-[Yeah, yeah. But still a shame, right?]
Observing closely mid-fight, even without my hits, its durability kept dropping. Took a bit to realize: that ragged exterior couldn't handle such violent moves—self-destructing from the strain. Didn't mean I'd sit idle waiting for it, of course.
We fought to the end. Mastema crumbled from my damage plus its own limits exceeded.
Static— Noise crept into Mastema's voice.
-[Been a while since a fun fight. No regrets heading to the afterlife.]
"You dying for real?"
Ghost after all, huh.
-[Who knows. Don't even know why I'm "alive" now. But I get it—you didn't luck into my spot.]
Definitely wrecked, yet his voice stayed clear, just lightly noisy.
-[Even a proper machine, I'd probably lose to you... Frustrating. But relics fade into history, right?]
"Relic?"
-[Whoa, girl, you really know zilch about me! Figured a vet like me was famous.]
True. When Arc Angel sent that request, they'd acted like downing Mastema was a big deal.
-[New blood pushed me down the ranks, sure... But look at me—elder statesman. Anyone riding Nexus knows that much.]
Elder.
-[Guinea pig from the early Nexus dev days. Y'know... your cockpit reads old-gen neural interface. No idea how I know, but yeah.]
Mastema sounded surprised.
-[You're same vintage as me. Damn lab rat.]
"Gu-se-dae Reinforcement Human... yeah."
-[Dust-covered antique, right? Funny coincidence. A fresh old-gen replacing the old one.]
Ironic. We both felt it.
"So... you were Rank 47?"
-[Yeah, dunno their ranking math. Thought they left it blank as respect for a vet. Guess not.]
"Why blank?"
-[Dormant, basically. Test pilot life—no frontlines, so it happened.]
Self-deprecating tone.
-[Arc Angel's full of superior new-gen pilots anyway... No regrets.]
"Hm."
-[Kinda relate to you, little miss antique. Go up there and smack those smug bastards.]
"No such drive."
We'd talked plenty. Breathless and flushed, but I wanted more.
"You always love fighting this much?"
-[Always? What d'you mean 'always'? Told you, doesn't matter. But... looking back...]
Noise amid static—he seemed to clutch his head, pondering.
-[Damn, feels like watching someone else. Anyway, wasn't this chatty back then. Calmer.]
"That's it?"
-[You get me. War vet from kid days—how colorful could it be? Dull, probably.]
Then this Mastema was way off. He seemed puzzled too.
-[Huh, yeah—I'm weirdly hooked on combat now. But hey, you enjoyed it too.]
"Can't deny."
-[There ya go. Wanna keep going, but... no choice.]
Hiss— Noise thickened, swallowing his voice.
-[Dunno if we'll meet again, but next time—proper fight, both at full.]
Vreeee— Sparks popped from the generator.
Pop, pop.
Kaboom!! It spewed blue flames and blew.
Smaller than I'd seen before.
Hiss—
The wrecked machine belched smoke. I watched, then.
Crunch! Closed in, gripped the cockpit section, and ripped it off.
"......"
Or rather, where the cockpit should've been.
Nothing there.