Defender Line, Libea Mountain Range
Sergeant Io! Anti-aircraft weapons are targeting you! Prepare for impact!
Intense alert. A chunk of iron packed with explosives streaks through the sky, trailing white smoke.
Defender, online.
A blue barrier deploys at the moment of collision, absorbing the strike.
Explosion. Condor shudders from the shock.
Defense system offline! Sergeant Io, Reaper, prepare for descent, understood?!
Whenever you're ready. Reaper, you okay?
No problem!
Ground strafing initiated! This unit will disengage in six seconds!
Below, a fierce trench war rages between humans and lizards.
Weedran charges toward the hastily constructed defensive line. Karaaf Front Army awaits in readiness.
Io and Reaper are about to plunge straight into the heart of it.
'Scanning confirmed! GO! GO! GO!'
Reaper drops. Jets flaring, plunging into the mud-caked trench.
Io jumps. Hit at the moment of landing—laser strike.
'Engaged. Evade.'
Goblet's warning.
Twist. A pale-blue plasma bolt streaks past, grazing the side of his face.
Impact. Explosion. Shrapnel and mud surge upward. Io rolls into the chaos, tumbling toward Reaper's side.
'...Good luck. Together at dawn!'
'You've been a burden. Stay alive.'
Condor veers away. No time to care.
Reaper shouts from the mangled trench.
'Assault Unit Sinclair, temporary Reaper team reporting!'
Descending to Point A-E-1! If anyone's still alive nearby, converge!
...Io, let them hear your voice. It'll stir the others up."
Io glances blankly at Reaper. Seems serious.
...This is Team 3552, Operation ID Io-200.
Engaging combat. Counterattack.
We'll collect the debt the lizards have been collecting by running wild here."
Thunderous artillery. Impact. Shock. Io's transmission cuts through it, clear and sharp.
—Been waiting for this moment!
Armor unit, advance! Diamond Frame will clear the way! Push the line forward!
From deep within the defensive position, the heavy unit launches its assault.
Heavily armored infantry and a grotesque, multi-legged caterpillar tank move in coordination, slicing through the enemy lines.
Diamond, secure the designated point if possible.
The target is deep within enemy lines.
Not a request for infantry. Only I and Reaper are here.
Still, too late for that.
A territory-control game played atop a fortress-like mountain range. This battlefield is just one among many.
The network of trenches is already losing forty percent of its territory to the enemy. Artillery and missiles streak overhead, intercepted by defense systems. Men and lizards fall without warning.
— Cut through. The side that breaks the front line first wins.
Annoying. A single click of the tongue. A shake of the head.
Reaper, it's too late to say this now...
You must have a purpose. Don't get involved in reckless tactics.
Really too late. Stop thinking about unnecessary things.
This is Io-200. Attack request acknowledged.
Point A-E-6, retake the captured defensive torchikas!
He broke into a sprint. Immediately encountered enemy forces. Attacking from the flank of a friendly unit locked in combat.
Crouching low, advancing at minimal speed. First target—double-tapped the nearest one.
The unit slammed into the wall, writhing but not dead.
"Reaper, enemy armor is hard!"
"Likely."
Different gear. Enemy is serious. Reaper warns while driving the kill stroke.
Enemy fire opens up. By then, already sliding behind cover. Reaper preparing a grenade.
"Flag out! Advance timing is yours!"
"Diamond, provide support fire! Strictly verify friendly identification!"
Vibration from explosion. Wait two seconds. Friendly forces launch a fierce counterattack.
Cover out from the barricade. Lean forward, check the blind spots left and right. Reaper immediately takes position to Io’s left. Dead-zone coverage as if it knows his breathing.
Shoot the one that catches the eye. Fire methodically. At the same time, Reaper eliminates another.
Still, the key is not letting the enemy get a shot off.
— Strike without warning. Kill before they lock on.
I know. Shut up.
...A brief silence settles.
"Reaper, look right."
"Understood. Look left. Timing for breach."
"Immediate. GO."
Step into the open corridor. Enemy forces are damaged from Reaper’s grenade.
Move in sync with Reaper, cut through, and eliminate one by one the pitiful lizards hiding behind the wall.
Block enemy line of fire with cover, while maintaining our own line of sight.
Calm and deliberate. Executing tactical drills with precision.
The angle of the rifle shifts incrementally. The enemy unit, pinned by friendly support fire, cannot mount an effective counterattack.
— Support fire is enough!
Further fire risks friendly casualties. Requesting cease-fire.
Hold breath. Dive into the blind spot. The Reaper should be launching from behind.
Time thickens. The wounded Weedlan raises his handgun as if making a final stand.
One shot. The extended limb detonates. Second shot. The headgear shatters. Third shot. The head is destroyed.
No sense of relief. Containers placed along the corridor. Shadows of destroyed ordnance. Clear every last corner.
— Corridor secured. Light cleared.
— Left cleared. Okay. All clear.
Reaper scanning the corridor ahead. No glance toward Io.
The passage splits into a crossroads. Friendly forces should be forward, having provided support fire. That does not mean no enemy remains.
Even if Weedran suddenly burst from the rear—supposedly secured—Reaper would not look away from Io. Would maintain focus on the corridor.
That is the role. That is coordination. No issue. At that moment, Io would protect Reaper.
Human field of view barely reaches 180 degrees after all.
"Thank you, Sinclair, for the Diamond Frame extraction."
The arriving reinforcements offer a collapsed salute.
Gleaming, bloodshot eyes. Soldiers drained to the bone.
Reaper, maintaining vigilance, asks:
"How many remain?"
"Five. The rest are dead."
"Total collapse. Can you retreat on your own?"
"No intention of falling back. Received the assault order. No choice but to proceed."
"Ah? Impressed."
Reaper gives Io a hand signal. Io, having completed magazine exchange, resumes forward movement.
Target: enemy, deep within. Reaper follows two steps behind, then the allied unit converges from behind.
"Revera Defense Force Strike Team Leader, Dennis Holland. Rank: Second Lieutenant."
"Special Assault Team. Makes sense. That’s why you’re tough."
"Diamond Frame, honored to fight alongside you."
Never stops. Enemy fire. Encounter with mobile weaponry. Traps. Ambushes. All overcome.
Hesitate, halt the advance, and you’ll be crushed. Even assaults that seem reckless—must be done.
The breakthrough comes again from Sergeant Io. Immediately after contact, she breaks the enemy’s momentum, and the Reaper covers the gap.
The strike team is well trained. Emotion extinguished even in extremity—no fear when ambushed.
Teeth clenched, stifling screams, they push forward through rising mud and debris.
One strike team member dies. Two more die. Dennis tears their recognition tags apart, lets out a growl instead of a prayer, and fires at the Weedran.
No time for prayer.
“Sergeant Io! I’ve got a daughter! Sixteen!”
Mid-advance, Dennis crouches behind a barricade, avoiding enemy fire.
“So what?”
Io answers harshly, hunched low on the ground.
“I just got married! My daughter’s got good taste in men! She brought someone decent!”
“Sixteen?!”
Something wrong with that?! This is the world we live in!
The artillery barrage continues. A Reaper sets a specialized device in the trench passage. A Defender.
It blocks shrapnel and blast fire. But the impact point is close. Flames lick Io’s flanks.
Without the Reaper, he’d be roasted right now.
If you want to see your daughter again, survive!
No— that’s not it!
The bombardment stops. The mixed unit resumes forward movement.
Denis lunges forward. Straight ahead.
For the sake of my daughters, I want to build this so-called peace!
Io’s reply is sharp.
Lieutenant Denis— get down!
He yanks Lieutenant Denis to the ground, drops low. The wall at the T-junction explodes. Ambushed.
A plasma grenade is thrown. No escape.
……!
He kicks the plasma grenade upward in a split second. Io was lucky. The grenade arcs high above, spitting electric blue lightning.
A motor hums—familiar, somewhere nearby. Approaching at high speed.
Goblet lunged.
‘Cyphs, two units approaching. Multiple enemy infantry.’
‘(Snake Eye, activated).’
‘Understood. Snake Eye, activated. Maximum operational efficiency.
Victory to you.’
He lowers Raven, seizes the SOD7 strapped to his body.
‘Denis! You’d better not think you can escape so easily!’
‘Huh. Yeah, right.’
The men laugh, faces smeared with mud. Io leans forward from the corner.
‘Io! Taking a shot from outside!’
Simultaneously, Reaper shifts posture, firing the jump unit horizontally.
Flung and rolling to the opposite side of the T-junction. Assume the same firing stance as Io.
The Strike Team had prepared smoke grenades.
‘Nano-mechanical smoke deployment! Plasma grenades are unnecessary!
Protective cap frequency forty-two point seven!’
That’s a relief.
The field of view fills with silver mist. Align the reticle with the heat source on the other side.
‘Synchronize with nano-machines. Snake Eye, function enhanced.’
Cyphs’ weakness is known. SOD7 will bypass even its armor.
Precise shot. One shot. The Cyphs, struck at the waist weak point, collapses forward with the momentum of its roller sprint, rolls, and smashes through the nano-mist into the wall.
No glance. Target the following Cyphs.
Same shot. Same destruction. Same ending.
Good shooting
Dennis, lurking behind, let out a quiet breath and slipped past Io’s side.
Strike Team advance and suppress! Do not halt your momentum!
Yuri, get behind me!
Aggressive Link! Maintain constant awareness of your comrade's position!
As long as you remain within the nanomachine smoke, the enemy's thermal detection is无效.
Automatic fire from the enemy—strafing volleys that shred the air. The strike team returns fire, shifting cover points while advancing, step by step.
A ringing in the ears. A familiar sensation. Not again.
—They are afraid. They know your existence.
My face is known too.
Without your support, they will die.
Ah, right. Io clenched her lips, pushing through static and phantom voices.
Beyond the smoke. The enemy begins to panic, exposing their heads.
Reaper, hold fire!
Strike team, halt! Reduce their numbers!
Io’s command, the strike team each takes cover.
(Goblet, freeze time. Show me their positions.)
'High-Combat Support Re-engaged'
The stolen outpost. Enemy entrenched at high ground. All exposed. All visible.
If we lose now, shooters should retire.
In a world where everything has slowed, Io lets out a sharp laugh.
— For the comrades who believed in me and you
Ah yes, damn it.
I feel it. Clearly. Distinctly. Something has changed.
Rapid-fire barrage. Muzzle rising. Full-auto spray, desperately controlled recoil.
Two at high ground. One inside the outpost. One deploying Defender ahead of the strike team.
The gunfire sounds distant. The click-clack of the weapon’s mechanism echoes, muffled as if underwater.
The world stretches, then contracts. Dizziness. Ragged breath. Time snaps back.
“Magazine swap…! Huh—huh—”
“Io? Io! What’s wrong?!”
“Huh… huh… nothing’s wrong…!”
The Reaper shouts. A half-hearted reply.
Slams in a fresh magazine. Pulls the charging handle.
“Goblet, one more time!”
“What? Who’s that?!”
‘Agent Io, warning. You are in a state of accumulated fatigue.’
“Do it anyway!”
‘…Support restored. Victory to you.’
It comes into view. Everything.
One who tried to save a fallen comrade. One who deployed a Defender to cover them.
Different from the others—a Cyphs, likely an officer-grade unit—leapt over the elevation change.
What’s going on? Enemy response keeps dropping. What the hell is he seeing?!
Iō exhaled sharply, a deep breath.
The SOD7’s ejection mechanism was malfunctioning. He manually cleared the obstructed cartridge, then retracted the charging handle.
It had endured the abuse of Iō’s reckless handling this far. Still useful.
Huh—.
A ragged, choked breathing sound.
Should be exhausted. But operating at peak efficiency.
Combat high. Convenient, now.
A unit spraying bullets wildly, battered and broken. The moment it tried to shift cover.
—Enemy line fully collapsed. Excellent shot. Excellent results, Iō.
Iō rose from his crouch and broke into a run.
All units, follow me!
Switching to Raven mid-sentence. Reaper lurches forward as if kicked.
Outpacing the strike team, Dennis slams a dazed subordinate and forces him to run.
Crushing the last resistance of the Weedrun unit, Iō reaches the captured outpost— the designated objective point.
Yuri, reboot the defense system!
Mason, re-establish the shield before enemy reinforcements arrive!
Devin fires at distant targets while issuing commands to his squad.
Iō leans against the outpost’s outer wall, gasping.
Struggling to stabilize ragged breath and a spinning field of vision.
Temporary command post! Point A-E-6 secured! Defense system rebooting!
Enemy assault expected! Link the defense systems now!
The Reaper passes by Dennis and kneels beside Io.
— Are you alright?
— You can see for yourself.
— Then you're on the verge of collapse. Fall back for medical assessment.
— …The lieutenants are continuing their fight in their own way.
— I… have a duty to fulfill.
— If you die, it’s over. If you live, you can fight again.
A detonation above. Friendly interceptors downed an enemy high-caliber missile.
Black smoke and flames spread across the field. That had been hit, and it would have been over.
Dennis glances at Io, smiles at Nihil.
— MVP is Diamond Frame!
— I’ll treat him to drinks. You all in?
Cheers erupt from the comms. The battlefield shifts. The battered allied forces begin pushing back with violent force.
Ioh let out a sudden laugh.
Reaper, begin the next operation.
Io, you...
The Reaper wore a face that looked like it had just felt a chill.
—After the battle at Korwe, I spoke with Boomer. You’re not seriously ill, are you.
Two of you talking behind my back?
Who were you calling out to in this fight? Gob... something or other.
Goddess of Victory
It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be brushed off as a joke.
Reaper
Io nodded. The moment a friendly Condor was shot down in the distance appeared before them.
The fallen debris landed on an allied armored unit. How many did it kill?
Many have died. More will die. Does no one feel fear toward this absurd consumption?
Then everyone's already sick.
Joke. Look. Isn't it ridiculous.
A poor joke. Compared to this insane situation...
A madman writhing on the ground, talking to hallucinations—what’s so remarkable about that?
The Reaper nodded silently.