Metallic Knights: Short Stories

Manny wrote:

It's Kruger wrote:Some one of your... Color, Manny, should appreciate the new Latin name.

I am not Roman though.

However, you did spell colour wrong. That rubs me the wrong way.

ANYWAYS, I also wanted to say that these stories are pretty cool. Keep pumping them out bruh. When Metallic knights went on hiatus I started having withdrawal symptoms.

Lol. It was a bad joke. Latino. Latin. Ah I'm hilarious.

No, but thanks. It's been pretty fun writing these. And I've been carpet-bombing the stories with stuff that'll matter later in the series.

John and I are working on bringing MK back, so your DT's should be ending here soon.

Also, JOHN. #Hype

Brothers.

“I know you’ve been dropping jaws in the sims, bro…” The voice echoed through the spacious, mostly empty, dark gray room. The metal seemed old and the fluorescent lighting failed to illuminate the shaded areas of the room. "But I'd hate to embarrass you so early in your career as a Combat Master."

It was rustic, old, and seemed much dirtier than it actually was. SaberMan, who stood in the dark simulation room, admired the look of the place. He enjoyed how everything was old and deteriorating in the Wastes, so much so that he sometimes despised the clean, bleached white feel most of New Harmony gave off. But not this place. This, the oldest training simulation room in New Harmony, was practically used only by SaberMan for those very reasons.

"Yeah yeah yeah." PulseMan started, using his free arm to brush some dirt off of his buster.

"Is General's pet project bearing its teeth?" Vesper’s voice echoed throughout the room from the intercom. She was behind heavily plated glass in the observation room, sitting in a chair, her feet resting on a nearby table.

“Funny.” SaberMan held his middle finger into the air, pointing it directly at Vesper before lowering his stance, lightly placing the tip of his energy saber on the floor behind him, holding his left hand just in front of his face as he kneeled in a racing pose.

With the battle ready to begin, PulseMan took a defensive position to oppose SaberMan's offensive style. With a small, quadrant-shaped shield attached firmly to his left forearm and a heavy buster on his right arm, PulseMan's weapon setup was almost the exact opposite of SaberMan's. PulseMan bent his knees and held his shield directly in front of him, propping his buster over the top.

In a blur, the much faster SaberMan dashed forward and jumped, holding his saber above him, ready to bring it down on PulseMan's head. But the attack was to no avail, the older, brown master blocked the attack with his small shield, holding it above his head. PulseMan dropped his right arm below his left, attempting to shoot SaberMan in the torso.

Before PulseMan could pull the trigger, SaberMan turned completely around, walking around PulseMan as he did so. With the swing of his blade as he dodged the wide miss shot of PulseMan's, SaberMan left a shallow cut on his brother’s leg.

PulseMan turned to face SaberMan, shooting a flurry of buster shots as fast as he could, but the heavy buster models had a slow rate of fire and high impact power. The space between shots allowed SaberMan to easily dodge and back up, his speed advantage over PulseMan becoming more and more apparent. As the smoke of PulseMan's missed shots cleared, SaberMan had remained unscathed, and was now positioned meters away from PulseMan. SaberMan began chuckling.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just really funny that you think you can hit me with one of those, Pasty. You can do better than that.” SaberMan pointed his blade at PulseMan, who raised his buster swiftly and fired directly at the unmoving SaberMan. “Age doesn’t mean wisdom, I guess.”

SaberMan readied his blade to deflect the shots, driving his point home that firearms were not a possible way to defeat him. To his surprise, the shots landed short, hitting the floor and kicking up a heavy torrent of dust not even SaberMan's HUD could see through.

Before he could grasp the situation, SaberMan's face was met with the side of a shield as it came swinging out of the cloud. SaberMan went tumbling backwards, bouncing off the ground so hard that he needed to plant his saber into the floor in order to slow his roll. When SaberMan looked up, PulseMan's charge had not ceased, he was still barreling towards him at a surprisingly fast rate.

PulseMan jumped, lifting his leg up to the side and swinging it forward, attempting to kick his kneeling brother in the head. As the hit came, SaberMan was in the process of removing his saber from the floor. Luckily, the kick was coming from his left. SaberMan grabbed PulseMan's boot and ripped it down towards his hip, returning PulseMan to the floor and forcing him to balance on one foot.

As SaberMan brought his blade up for a jab, PulseMan blocked the hit with his shield, the weapon glancing to the side with the help of a backhand push from PulseMan. With his arm held out to the side, and SaberMan's body completely exposed, PulseMan used the side of his shield to add an edge to his punch, knocking SaberMan right on his back.

The agile SaberMan rolled back over his shoulder and returned to his feet, the side of his light green visor completely cracked.

“Okay.” SaberMan said, now surprised and completely annoyed. “Stop PUNCHING ME! BACK-BURNER!!”

A bright blue flame rose from the edges of SaberMan's energy saber. This ability, the first and weakest of what will soon be many, was created by General and taught to SaberMan. A physical manifestation of SaberMan's rage, the ironically named ability allowed SaberMan to push his limiters and increase his speed, strength, and the energy output of his blade. The uncontrollable nature of the attack was the exact reason SaberMan would soon remove it from his repertoire of moves. It was also not an attack one would use in a friendly skirmish.

“Whoa. Wait. What?” PulseMan said, raising his guard as he spoke. The casual battle between brothers had just become much more intense.

SaberMan sprinted straight towards PulseMan, who was only around 2 meters away from him. SaberMan unleashed a flurry of attacks just slightly faster than PulseMan could block. Every few hits, the brown combat master would find himself inches from death and would dodge in order to catch up. After more than a few swings from SaberMan's blade, PulseMan noticed he’d lost his general technique, which usually made it hard to find an opening when SaberMan was attacking. As SaberMan wound back to unleash a powerful diagonal slash, PulseMan kicked him back, sending SaberMan staggering a few steps.

Now in a safe range from SaberMan, PulseMan quickly aimed and shot his buster four times, just enough to possibly cripple SaberMan's frame and end this fight quickly.

Suddenly, SaberMan was on the exact opposite side of the room, crouching on a knee, his saber resting on his raised leg.

“You calm down yet?” PulseMan said, aiming his buster at a target too quick and too far for him to hit.

“Yeah. You shot me in the arm.” SaberMan said, completely calmed and relaxed.

“I could punch you again if you want.” PulseMan offered, raising his arms out to his sides.

“No. No, no, I’m good.” SaberMan stood up, returning his blade back into his arm and replacing it with his right hand. His mouth guard and heavily cracked visor slotted back into their passive places in his helmet. He had just deactivated his combat matrix, and PulseMan followed suit.

“Can we call it a day?” Octave nodded towards the door and held his thumb up, wanting a vocal agreement that the fight had ended.

“Hell no, we can’t call it a day!” Pastoral exclaimed, offended. “Let’s get patched up by Monday and go mess with Cavatino!”

“That’s a much better idea.” Octave said, smiling at the notion. Him? A combat master?

“You coming Ves?” Pastoral turned towards the window to the observation room, almost forgetting about their sister in arms and not wanting her to miss the fun of annoying Cavatino.

“I would love to, guys. But the humans in here monitoring Pastoral’s progress have never seen a combat master spar before.” Vesper said from behind the intercom, filling the room with her voice.

“So?” Octave asked.

“I might have to be cleaning up urine and reading them bedtime stories so they don’t have nightmares. Go have your fun.” Vesper finished with a snicker as the intercom crackled. In the midst of her talking, Pastoral could have sworn he heard a quiet whimper.

Pawns

“A sword and shield work in unison to defeat its foes!” General shouted at the two worn and battered combat masters before them. Octave was down on one knee, held upright by his saber thinly plunged into the ground while Pastoral rested on his hands and knees, panting from exhaustion.

Octave struggled to stand upright, immediately shuffling with the sole intent on helping his brother. While Octave’s arms were around Pastoral, a large, heavy boot connected to his chest, sending him straight back to the floor.

“To help a weaker ally is to open yourself to attack!” General paused as he approached Octave, the fire in his eyes burning with intentions he was nowhere near accomplishing. “If you wish to protect him from harm, Octave, fight me alone and let Pastoral recover on his own.”

“Fuck off.” Octave spat back, venom on his tongue.

“I will once you improve. You were born into this role, SaberMan. Your brother chose it.” General lowered his blade and swung it upright, rolling Pastoral onto his back with the force of the slash, a large chunk of the metal flying off of the side of his midsection.

“Leave him ALONE!” Octave sprang back to life, attacking General with a flourish of aggressive swings. All of which General blocked with his own blade, and when an opening appeared, he slashed Octave across the chest, returning him to the floor he currently belonged.

“How is this… Fair?” Pastoral clutched his side, still lying on his back. “No way we’ll ever meet a Malevolent as strong as you…”

“If you can hold your own against my best, then you will become the most powerful combat masters among your peers.” General said wistfully, as if caught in a daydream of the two someday becoming confident fighters.

While General was distracted by his own thoughts, Octave ran at him again, his body staying low for the upward strike he followed with. General turned and held his saber horizontally, negating the attack, and then clutched Octave by the throat.

“Good thinking.” General squeezed harder on Octave’s neck as he kicked and flailed like a small child. When it was apparent General was about to behead his trainee, he loosened his grip and tossed Octave aside like trash.

“Reset the simulation. Pain registry is to remain at one-hundred percent.” General ordered the console which obliged his command in an instant. Pastoral and Octave’s bodies were returned to perfect condition and placed in the center of the room, facing General.

“You will come at me once more.”

“Don’t you think the outcome will be the same as the last hundred-fucking-times we’ve sparred!? What are we learning here, exactly?” Octave cried out in protest, Pastoral attempting to calm him with a single hand on the shoulder.

“If you want to shape metal, you need to heat it and pound it into shape.” General replied calmly as he drew his saber.

Ready to attempt to defend themselves, both Pastoral and Octave rushed into battle positions, surprised when General didn’t attack. Instead, he exhaled and smiled at them. The look sent chills up both their spines.

“I once sent some combat masters to raid a large building filled to the brim with Malevolent. The baser kind. When the fighting had stopped, and my masters had won, they reported to me that it was a library; a valuable find. I escorted both Lady Opera and FigureMan to the library to see what they could find. While I waited for their task to be completed, I found an ancient book, predating the beginning of the war itself, named Pawn. When I began to read the book, a particular section garnered my interest. It said ‘“You and I should play chess sometime. I think you would like it,” she said. “It’s a game of strategy, mostly. The strong pieces are in the back row, while the weak pieces—the pawns—are all in the front, ready to take the brunt of the attack. Because of their limited movement and vulnerability, most people underestimate them and only use them to protect the more powerful pieces. But when I play, I protect my pawns.”
“Why?” I said, not entirely sure where this conversation was going. “If they’re weak, then what’s the point?”
“They may be weak when the game begins, but their potential is remarkable. Most of the time, they’ll be taken by the other side and held captive until the end of the game. But if you’re careful—if you keep your eyes open and pay attention to what your opponent is doing, if you protect your pawns and they reach the other side of the board, do you know what happens then?”
I shook my head, and she smiled.
“Your pawn becomes a queen.” She touched my cheek, her fingers cold as ice. “Because they kept moving forward and triumphed against impossible odds, they become the most powerful piece in the game”'. Do you understand now?”

“You want us to become queens?” Pastoral asked. While the only one vocal about it, both he and his brother were completely confused by the reading they had just received.

“I want you to reach the other side of the board.”

Saber

That bastard taught me everything I need to know for this situation. The Wastes may batter these Malevolent every day, but I KNOW he battered me harder.

“A poor little New Harmony Bot all alone outside of his comfy walls?” One of the Malevolent stepped forward ahead of his brethren and squad of drones. He stood a little taller than SaberMan, a bulky design meant for taking more than a few hits.

This Malevolent, Saw, was a worn shade of red, the area around his eyes jet black, and his large chainsaw attached to his arm a stripped metallic steel color. He was obviously a warrior of the wastes, the teeth on his weapon were worn for use on frames who were not quite tough enough to withstand the savagery of the thing.

“How am I alone if all you guys are here?” SaberMan quipped before lunging, going straight for Saw in a jabbing motion.

Before SaberMan could get close enough to hit his mark, a torrent of buster fire came rushing towards him, threatening to shred him into scrap. SaberMan backed off, bounding backwards and gaining distance between himself and the fire, allowing him to swat away the hail of yellow death.

Damn drones. Three Sniper Joes and a Hammer Joe just incase things get hairy for him… What a- before SaberMan could finish his thought, a large black hammer came barreling towards him. SaberMan attempted to block the projectile, but the heavy hammer broke the guard and sent SaberMan on his back with a fair dent in his torso. ... pussy…

Before SaberMan could completely recover, Saw was running towards him, his loud chainsaw dragging and grinding against the dirt as he continued forward.

SaberMan rolled twice, landing on his stomach halfway through the third, and propped himself up. Here, he had a choice; chance the finishing blow and clean up the drones with the immediate threat destroyed, or attack the Joes and take Saw one on one.

In a blink of the human eye SaberMan was right in front of the closest Sniper Joes, and before it or its allies could fire, the drone was felled, cut completely in half. In a spinning jump, SaberMan brought his saber down on top of another Sniper Joe, cutting down from face to crotch. The final Sniper Joe shot, SaberMan just able to block the round in time and close the distance before the next shot. Now all that were left were Saw and the Hammer Joe.

The Hammer Joe spun its mighty hammer above its head and threw it directly at SaberMan, an easy dodge now that the blue robot saw it coming. SaberMan closed the distance as the last surviving Joe readied yet another black hammer.

How many of those damn things does it have?”

SaberMan swung his saber up towards the larger drone as the Joe brought its hammer down, the two weapons clashing to SaberMan's disadvantage, the stronger and heavier the victor. SaberMan's boots dug into the ground as he slid backwards. The second his recoil ended, SaberMan was back in the Joe’s face, dodging a horizontal swing of the almost superior melee weapon. But the hammer was heavy and the Joe was slow. Before it could ever hope to swing again, SaberMan jumped and slashed the drone’s head clean off. The hammer fell to the floor, cracking the crumbling dirt as it landed, as did the Hammer Joe’s body.

“Impressive.” Saw chuckled at the destruction of his Soulless crew as he powered down his chainsaw. “You’re not the best with a sword… But you sure seem to hate everything you fight.”

“General calls his a sword…” SaberMan muttered.

“Excuse me?” Saw held his free hand up to his ear in a mocking fashion.

“It’s not a sword.” SaberMan said much louder this time.

“Cute. I don’t care what you call your sword, kid. Dead heaps of metal don’t get a say in what I call their blades.” Saw droned on, apparently amused by SaberMan's opposition.

“It’s a saber!” SaberMan shouted, “MY NAME IS SABERMAN FOR A REASON!”

SaberMan dashed, the dust skyrocketing upwards behind him as he shot forward faster than Saw predicted he could, a boot slamming into his chest before he could bring his chainsaw up. As Saw went tumbling backwards, SaberMan sprinted around the side in a semicircular motion, colliding with the red Malevolent with a full-on body check, stopping both of them in their tracks.

Saw grunted, opening his eyes to seeing SaberMan's, burning bright with the fires of hate as he brought his saber downwards. Saw threw his chainsaw in front of his, narrowly blocking the hit. Expecting them to clash for a second, Saw tensed up, but was surprised when SaberMan lifted his blade and slammed it down again and again, screaming as the blows came harder and more rapidly until SaberMan hit the chainsaw at the hilt, cutting through it and Saw’s head, instantly killing the Malevolent.

In the throes of rage, SaberMan didn’t stop there. The blue master, one who was supposed to represent peace, justice, and stability, brutalized Saw’s frame, smashing his saber all around the body until it was cut and smashed into pieces. When he finally snapped back into reality, all that was partially intact was Saw partially impaled and jaggedly severed head. The horror of the image shocked Octave to his very core, and with one final blow he completely destroyed the head, and erased the blight of Saw from the Wastes forever.

What the hell… What the hell is wrong with me…?

Marauder I

"Yo, Ves. Question." Octave asked bluntly as he and Vesper wandered around the ruins of the once great Abel City, the nearest derelict city to New Harmony, and home to countless Malevolent, powerful or not.

"Shoot." Vesper answered as she peeked her head around a corner leading to a dead-end alleyway, checking their flanks.

"S-Ranked combat masters are supposed to be super badass, right?"

"Sure. Depending on who you ask."

"Okay. Follow up question; why the hell am I tagging along with you on this headhunt if you could pound this guy into a cube and reuse him for scrap?" Octave asked, obviously annoyed at the notion of being dragged along with a partner outside the walls of the city.

"Honestly? Because I don't think I can take this guy alone. You read the dossier?" Vesper stopped to respond to Octave's inquiry, this conversation holding some importance to her and her mission.

"Not even a little bit." Octave stopped as well.

"You should've. This Malevolent we're hunting gets off on hunting and killing robot masters. Some scouts were sent to gather info on a building General wanted to raid, and he left their frames just outside of our defense systems on the wall with their integrated circuits smashed and his name carved into them." Vesper's tone darkened. Every time a master of any kind was lost was great. So few of them pass the marks for benevolence that number were already not on their side.

"Scrap, eh?" Octave peeked at the dossier on his head-up display, locating the target's name. "Then why didn't you get Cavatino or Duet to come with you? Unless you think I deserve a promotion, of course." He joked.

"I think you're just barely good enough to help me win this fight. You're young, but General doesn't just personally train anybody." Vesper dished out the backhanded compliment as she turned her back on Octave, continuing forward.

"Wow. Dick." Octave mocked offense, as was his common reaction. Lady Opera warned Vesper of Octave's inability to take conversation seriously, but it wouldn't have bothered regardless. Despite barely knowing him, Octave was still like a little brother to her, as were all the new masters.

Soon, the two approached the target's last confirmed location, coincidentally a scrapyard.

"The target was last seen camping here. Apparently, Scrap was using some of the machines here to kill a surviving scout and some captured nomadic humans." Vesper said in a daunting, horrified tone as the two stood atop a hill overlooking the yard.

"Who saw him?" Octave asked, unsuccessfully hiding his horror at the idea of humans and combat masters being squished.

"Solo. His first scouting mission too." Vesper said, as if she were ashamed of the fact.

Octave didn't even have a response to that, witty or not.

"Looks like the sick fuck hasn't moved an inch." Octave pointed to the far side of the scrapyard, a number of minor Malevolent dancing atop the ancient vehicles.

"That's not good." Vesper sighed as she eyed the Malevolent.

"Why?"

"Every other VIT job I've done, the target moves around. Word gets out that you're being hunted pretty fast out here. Scrap has to know we're coming."

"So?"

"Chances are..." Vesper paused dramatically as she turned to Octave, who looked at her with anticipation. "He's looking for a fight."

The crimson and blue masters descended into the yards, keeping an eye on the tall stacks of cars walking the off in a dirty, rusted trail. As the eerie laughter and screaming grew closer, Octave grew more and more tense. Vesper stopped, her Bomb Buster drawn and eyes pointed straight up.

"Stay calm. Watch my back, I'll watch yours." Vesper ordered, Octave shaking head to refocus and drawing his saber.

"These Screechers?" Octave scanned the area around him as he pressed his back onto Vesper's.

"No. Some Malevolent are just insane." Vesper answered honestly. She spoke as if the fact that they were fighting psychotic murderers was a relief. Truth be told: if there were more than a few Screechers, in this right of a space, they'd be doomed.

Silhouettes began to line the tops of the cars around the two masters. Suddenly, the path they took to get themselves into this box was consumed by stacks of falling cars. It was also the only way out. This was a trap they both saw coming the moment they heard the laughter. This fight was going to be close quarters, a form both Octave and Vesper were more than proficient in.

The silhouettes descended from their perches, revealing the rare type of Malevolent they were facing.

When the people manning the Forge review a Soul, some are so violent and insane that it takes them seconds to reject the Soul. These Malevolent are called Marauders. They're classified by their inability to simply speak. Some cry, some are completely silent, but most laugh. When picked up by a Nexus Spire, Marauders, like most Malevolent, are given simple frames that risk turning to dust at any second. But they're easily identified by the masks they adorn onto themselves, which are usually made of the faces of other fallen Souls. Vesper and Octave nearly gagged when they identified the synthetic flesh of people they once knew as friends.

The laughing psychopaths drew closer, Octave counting four on his side and Vesper counting five.

"Call for me if you need my help." Vesper whispered into Octave's ear close behind him.

"You do the same. Let's not die here." Octave gulped. He was, for the first time in his life, legitimately terrified of a battle.

A Marauder leaped forward towards Octave, the frail frame of the malevolent sliced like butter under Octave's hot knife. The cut it in half across the waist, but the top half landed on Octave's chest and dug into his frame with its sharpened claws it had for hands. Octave peered down into its eyes hidden behind flesh and scrap. The lights behind them were glowing with a bright, soulless white light. Before it could but at him with its triangular teeth, Octave clutched it by the back of the head and crushed the skull.

Vesper was much quicker on the assault than Octave, immediately sticking the middle Marauder with a sticky bomb and holding the detonation. She lunged forward, kicking one Marauder and then another into their stuck ally before detonating the charge, instantly killing all three of them.

Octave's three remaining Marauder's stared silently at their dead comrade for a second. Then, almost at the exact same time, returned their gaze at Octave with continued laughter.

"Yeah. If Souls had demons, you're about as close as they'd get." Octave insulted the Marauders, who bursts out further with laughter from the comment. He darted forward, plunging his blue blade into one's skull, killing it. He tore the saber out in a wide swing, tearing the dead Marauder's skull out through the side as he did.

Vesper's right leg shone with a bright red glow as energy sharpened and hardened her shin. She brought her leg up and kicked a nearby Marauder right between the legs, cutting through halfway up the malevolent's torso. Before she could finish the thing off, the other remaining Marauder dug its teeth into her shoulder, ripping out a sizable chunk of metal from her spherical, crimson pauldron.

"SHELL!" ChargeWoman cried out in response, her afflicted shoulder glowing with the same red energy as her leg did, hardening her shoulder, and shattering the teeth of the Marauder. She lowered her right leg from the other Marauder": torso and spun around for a roundhouse kick, completely dismantling the foe, leaving one, easy kill for her to pin to the floor and crush with her foot.

SaberMan, now with his unarmed hand on the throat of one Marauder and his saber through the chest of the other, finished off his last two enemies almost simultaneously, crushing one's neck and raising his saber through the other's head. With that, all of the Marauders that had attacked the two masters were dead.

But, the victorious heroes' blood ran cold when several, if not hundreds of more chuckles came roaring above them.

Marauders lined the box of cars around Octave and Vesper, an unusual amount for the cannibalistic, unfeeling malevolent. This was suddenly not a battle they could win.

"Hold!" A deep, scratchy voice rang out from the tallest stack of vehicles. "Leave."

With the command, the Marauders scurried off in a hurry.

"You won't need to worry about them. They just get... Excited, you could say, when company arrives." Scrap leaped from his tower, his landing shaking the dirt beneath their feet. "Are you the city bots who have come to kill me?"

"You're goddamn right." Octave said confidently, pointing his saber directly at Scrap as Vesper rolled her eyes.

Octave, however, didn't take a good look at Scrap before making the comment. An imposing figure, Scrap stood at lead a foot taller than either Vesper or Octave. His frame was braced with thick pieces of metal welded into place, his face was made of plates of varying degrees of rust, and his weapon seemed to be a energy-charged axe, the handle standing a little taller than scrap himself. It was a weapon only Vesper recognized.

"Tanto's axe! You..."

"That was his name? I knew him as PaladinMan, but that show's what I know. He seemed fairly confident of my demise... Just like your boy here." Scrap spoke with a flair of confidence and swagger, in a way that reminded Octave of Cavatino. Though, in his brief gloss over of the dossier, he saw a note that Scrap vividly explain his desire to watch a human die.

"PaladinMan? Who was-"

"A friend and one of the greatest fighters I've ever met." Vesper clenched her teeth, the very sight of Scrap holding that weapon drove Vesper to a fit of rage.

"Which does not bode well for you, child." Scrap added, lightly chuckling as he picked the hammer up with his second hand.

"Fuck off, you make-shift piece of shit!" Octave responded with disproportionate anger. "I'll drag your chip and that axe home myself!"

Faster than Vesper could ever hope to stop, Octave charged Scrap, clutching the base of his saber with his off hand to prepare for a new attacked he had only just been taught by General.

"HEAD-HUNTER!" Octave shouted, his eyes lighting up with an intense blue shine as his saber grew twice as thick and three times as long. He held the blade above his head as he leaped over Scrap's head and swung down, attempting to end the fight before it had even started.

Scrap smirked as he waited for Octave to get closer. When the young, headstrong master drew close, the older malevolent held the long handle of his blade above him, blocking the attack with no damage taken at all. He tilted his weapon, sliding Octave towards the blade of his axe and smacked him on his side with the base of the handle.

As Octave recoiled, Scrap pointed and thrusted the speared tip of his axe at Octave, Vesper only just able to kick the broad side of the weapon and save Octave from further damage.

"With that kind of fury, I'm surprised they let you carry a fork, let alone a blade and frame as powerful as yours." Scrap mocked Octave as he regained control of his large axe and took a step back.

"Octave, how's your side?" Vesper asked, stepping in front of Octave, holding her arms out in a defensive position.

"Badly dented." Octave replied, clutching his side.

"Self repair timer?"

"Three minutes. Why?"

Vesper hardened her unarmed forearm and readied both shins to deliver deadly kicks.

"Take a breather, cool down, and heal up. I got this."

Another arduous training session ended. The simulated arena was left in ruins. Craters pocked the concrete road on which the three belligerents clashed. General, the last man standing, stood as he always stood; polished, clean, straight, and unharmed.

His opponents, on the other hand, were another story. Octave, ruthlessly bisected, had only just fallen moments ago. The sound of his upper body striking the road still echoed throughout the abandoned street. He grit his teeth, absentmindedly trying to stand despite his loss of motor function. General could tell Octave was still fighting. Those eyes of his were still alive, flickering and searching for a way to continue on, despite the clear defeat.

Lesser still was Pastoral's state. The embers where he'd been stricken down had cooled and gone out. Face down in the dirt, his body was scorched. He'd taken a point blank shot from General's cannon.

Worse yet, General was unimpressed. He'd fallen early. His attack was unskilled and desperate, as opposed to his brother's more nuanced, spirited approach. Pastoral hadn't just been defeated, he'd yet again failed.

And the robot master knew it. As the simulation ended, the damage from the brother's bodies faded. Octave immediately jerked upright, turning to face General, a fire in his eyes.

Pastoral stayed down, clenching his fists and biting his tongue. "...Dammit..." The robot master hissed as he got onto his hands and knees.

"That's enough for today." General sighed. "Octave. Fine work. Pastoral..."

Turning to face General, Pastoral's mouth-guard slotted away. He pulled his shield up, placing it in his hands as he waited for General's verdict. Part of him hoped against hope that General saw some progress in the younger soul. However, that was not to be.

"I expected more from you. I was mistaken."

"HEY!" Octave barked in Pastoral's defense, but a sharp look from General silenced him.  Octave's brow still furrowed, a heavy, angry frown set on his face. He continued on after a tense moment. "You can tell me what to do, but not what to think. Pastoral's trying his best, and he doesn't even have my Time Skimmer! How can you expect him to keep up with us so soon?!"

"He made his choice. If he cannot progress, I'll put him in charge of a droid platoon. Or, he can go back to his service as a Support Unit." General leered down at Pastoral now, who was one one knee. "His service in that capacity was far more useful to New Harmony. These pathetic displays are beneath us."

"...Yes, General. I will not disappoint you again." The words came from Pastoral's mouth in a brittle tone. It had been a year, and his progress was slow; nearly nonexistent, even.

As General left the room, Octave stepped beside his brother. "No worries, Pasty. I'm sure you'll impro-"

"NO I WON'T," Pastoral growled. He placed a hand on his face, standing. Octave pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Dude, you know you will. Otherwise, wouldn't you have given up by now?" Octave looked at Pastoral with genuine sympathy, as he did his best to say something helpful. "Man, I've never seen you do something you don't believe in, and whenever you believe in something, it gets done. C'mon. You're on the verge of some sort of breakthrough! And even if you aren't, you'll be back for the next training session. You've said 'I give up' every few weeks now, but you've never actually done it."

Pastoral didn't even glance at Octave as he stamped his way out. "Then maybe I should."

"...Wait, what?! No, that's not what I meant! Goddammit Pasty!" Octave tried to follow, but Pastoral tossed his shield onto the floor, and Octave stepped on it, slipping. "WhoawhoaWHOA" The robot master failed to catch himself, his head thumping against the tile. "Ow! Asshole! If you're mad, don't fucking take it out on me!"

That maneuver may have been what saved Pastoral's career. Behind the two way glass, a small group of interested parties watched, one in particular taking very careful note.

It was the first time Vesper or Album had seen someone trip up Octave.

---

Pastoral sat alone on the steps of the Cathedral, staring out at the slowly setting sun. The dome of the City dyed the sky blue, but Pastoral had been in the wastes before. In actuality, the majority of the time, the sky on this continent was a muted tan; an aftereffect of the Great War's bombs.

He held his hand in front of his face. His body, built by Dr. Monday, had been remodeled for heavy combat. Each fingertip could pierce a hole in solid steel. However, he still couldn't pilot this body of his correctly.

"...You should ditch the mouth guard," a female voice said from behind him. "A visor would look better. Besides, your mouth can be pretty expressive. It'd be a better design."

Pastoral quickly turned to see his elder sister. An S Rank robot; Vesper. "Miss Vesper. Hello. I'm sorry, I'm not in your way, am I?"

Vesper ignored the comment, sitting beside him and staring at him. "Sit."

The dark skinned robot did so, awkwardly staring out at the sky again, aware that Vesper was staring at him. Uh oh. Did I make her mad somehow? Did I bump into her or something? What did I do?

"General really did a number on you, yeah?" Vesper cooly reported.

"...Our training sessions are simulated. My body hasn't been damaged whatsoever."

"Not your body, Pastoral. Up here." Vesper prodded Pastoral's helmet with her fingers. "Your mind. Every session, you reinforce bad habits and develop new fears. Octave learns from those training sessions, but you? You're probably weaker than the day you started."

"...It doesn't matter," Pastoral grumbled. "I was garbage to begin with."

Vesper grasped the top of Pastoral's helmet, gripping hard with two fingers and turning his head. She looked him in the eye intensely, her face set with cold fury. "Wrong." The robot master leaned in. "I've been watching you for a while. Every day, you get stomped like a snake, but you keep trying and trying. That takes courage. And to top it all off, your timing is already perfect. You read Octave's moves, and used a creative solution to mess with him."

Pastoral raised his eyebrow. "...I did?"

"Your shield throw. When you tripped him. That wasn't luck, was it?" Vesper smirked. "I've seen Hymn try a thousand times to trip Octave in the hallway, but Octave ALWAYS outmaneuvers him. His program reflex is flawless. Tell me, how many times have YOU tripped Octave?"

Pastoral rubbed his fingers together, a bit embarrassed. "...With my shield, a few times. But I trip him with my feet constantly. He hates it."

"...Good. Well, tomorrow, meet me right here. I'm putting you on a new lesson plan." Vesper stood, clapping her hands together. "I needed something to do for a while, so I guess you're my new project."

Smiling, Pastoral stood and bowed. "Thank you, Lady Vesper. If you think it will help, I'm willing to try."

"If you bow to me again, or call me 'Lady,' I'll kick your head off. I hate that." Vesper leered at Pastoral, her left toe tapping the ground. "From here, I bet I could kick that skull of yours all the way to the factory district, no problem. Don't test me."

Pastoral jerked upright. "Sorry."

Marauder II

Vesper dashed forward, a flurry of kicks following every forward advance. Scrap, in a machine-like fashion, dodged or deflected every attack with the middle section on the handle of his long axe. With her fruitless chain of attacks finished, Vesper jumped and planted both feet on Scrap's handle, springing off of it and landing just beside Octave in an attempt to gain distance.

"One Minute." Octave huffed as he watched the dent slowly buff itself out. Vesper nodded in response, but one minute in a fight was an eternity.

"You know... I've been in the Wastes a long time. Killed your kind as often as I ran into them. But, in all my years, I've never faced opponents as fierce and determined as you two. I will throughly enjoy revoking that damned city's right to remarkable warriors such as yourselves." Scrap paced forward in the classic, intimidating villain walk.

"Thirty seconds." Octave stood and readied his blade. As Scrap approached closer, Octave's gaze upon the counter intensified.

"We have to work together on this, Octave." Vesper's buster hummed with a low pulse, and Octave knew exactly what she wanted him to do.

The clock hit zero as Scrap raised his axe above his head, ready to finish the injured and worn out combat masters. Vesper shouted incoherently as she fired a bomb from her buster, as it flew through the air, Octave leaped into the air and slashed the explosive, detonating it right in Scrap's face. Octave's blade cut so finely that he had landed before the severed charge exploded in Scrap's face, leaving the blue saber unharmed.

Scrap staggered backwards, the explosion almost knocking him back on his ass. When he recovered, he was just able to block as Vesper's deadly leg came flying at him, but was unable to stop Octave's blade from slashing him across his lower torso. As Octave ran past, finishing his strike, Scrap attacked with a pendulum swing, Octave turning around and blocking the deadly strike.

As Scrap regained control of his blade, he was met with a hammer kick to the top of the head and an impaling blade to the shoulder.

Octave and Vesper backed off, not wishing to be hit by a retaliating strike from such a heavy Melee weapon.

Enraged and furious, Scrap lugged his large, heavy frame forward as he readied a sweeping blow for Vesper and Octave, the two faster fighters easily dodging and landing on either side of Scrap.

Vesper fired dozens of bombs in rapid succession, each landing on and detonating on Scrap's side. Stunned by the barrage, Scrap didn't see Octave closing in from behind.

"HEAD-HUNTER!" SaberMan shouted as he blade practically doubled in length and shone in a eye-stabbing gleam of blue light. With the first slash, Octave completely severed Scrap's right leg, and with the second he swung upwards, deeply gnashing Scrap's chest, exposing his inner workings.

"You are as flies! FLIES! I will SQUASH YOU UNDER MY BOOT LIKE THE INSECTS THAT YOU ARE!" Scrap screamed as Octave came in for the kill. Propping his leg-less side up with the base of his axe, Scrap regain balance and used his free hand to snatch Octave out of the air by the boot and slam him into the ground multiple times, forgetting entirely about Vesper in his rage.

As Octave's body folded and bent under the the sheer power of Scrap's blows, Vesper closed in from behind. As Scrap hammered Octave into the floor once last time, she leaped into the air.

"Ink Drop!" Vesper angled herself in midair, one leg bent to brace, and the other pointed straight down and charged with her signature energy-laced limbs. She came straight down, like a pencil dive, and connected her boot to the top of Scrap's head, smashing and shattering through it before she connected with the floor.

Octave came tumbling out of Scrap's grasp, eventually landing still. As he did, he turned to see why he had been released, and if Scrap was coming in for another round to finish Octave off. This was not the case. Still propped upright by PaladinMan's axe, Scrap's lifeless body hung there like a statue, Vesper's attack not even leaving an integrated circuit behind to recover.

"Holy shit..." Octave gasped as he attempted and failed to pull himself up.

"I'm gonna need to carry you back, huh?" Vesper joked just after huffing. Her voice was breathy, obviously winded from the final assault to take Scrap down. Whether it was from physical exhaustion or the stress behind almost losing Octave was unsure.

"What about the axe?" Octave said feebly, pointing at Scrap's corpse.

"Leave it. Tanto would've liked this statue we're leaving." Vesper replied, smiling solemnly as she looked at the weapon, still pulsating with power.

"You're not gonna wait for me to repair?"

Vesper chuckled. "Only if you want those Marauders to come back and kill you."

"You have a point."

Ghosts of Days Gone By

“Do you understand your position, General?” Doctor Monday looked at the combat master. Only years old, the Soul would be considered a child by human standards. Though he hated it, Monday understood the positions of combat masters were dire in these times and for many years to come. 

“I understand, Doctor.” General nodded, his head held high in attention. Monday was one of the few humans the powerful warrior respected by choice rather than position.

“I can’t imagine what it must feel like. What relation did you regard him in?” Monday tinkered with the wide open panel in General’s chest as he spoke on the touchy subject. 

“With all due respect, Doctor, I would rather not speak ill of the dead.” General said simply. The manner General had begun carrying himself since the event was alien to Monday. Years ago, the young Soul held a fire in his eyes and a determination to succeed to make those he looked up to proud. The young General was as human as any other Soul Monday had met. Now, the master acted like the entity he saw himself: a robot built only for destruction. And the idea ached the doctor’s heart. 

“Understood. I reworked your harness holding your integrated circuit, so cognitive function may be a bit shaky for a few minutes. I’d like to re-read your new set of duties, if that’s okay.” Monday sat back down in the chair behind him, turning towards a piece of paper he had put down only a few hours before. 

“I understood the orders the first time you read them to me, Doctor.” General said, his gaze unbreaking from the non existent horizon at the other end of the room. 

“I know, but, just in case your new harness messes your thoughts up at all.” Monday explained. 

“Very well.” General nodded. 

“Ahem. ‘FSN-003. From this day on you have been revoked the rights to your original name and have been assigned the title of General for your service and proof of benevolence in those harrowing days the people of New Harmony will not forget for years to come. With the title of General, you are granted total military control of any and all combat masters to enter your ranks, but are denied any weight in the affairs of the human military. 

Any acquisition of your forces by the human military are mandatory orders that you must abide. However, the specific units you wish to grant will but up to your discretion. 

You are to hold the security of New Harmony and her people above all else. Any and all decisions you are authorized to make will be up for review after the fact by a council of humans. Any violation of these orders will result in a striping of your title and replacement by a successor of your choice.’ And the rest is just congratulations and wishes for good luck.” Monday paused, expecting General to have a comment or complaint. In fact, Monday hoped for a debate in some of the aspects of these duties, but no such reply came from the sturdy robot. 

“Listen, Mar- General. After what you did… The sheer numbers of lives you saved? You can barter some better terms for you to lead under.” Monday said, his voice lowered and his tone dead serious. General turned his head to Monday, looking directly at the doctor for the first time since the battle three months ago. 

General’s eyes were stern, but empty. His face was emotionless and cold. The Soul Monday had gotten to know was dead. While it was understandable, Monday was sad to see him go. 

In his mind, Monday thought of the stories of heroes in the ancient world he had read between ruined pages and rough translations. He once thought of his two greatest inventions as destined messiahs to rid the world of the evil that surrounded them. But this was not to come. And then the doctor realized that this was the true fate of the hero: to fall to his own good deeds and become something he can no longer recognize. 

And now the doctor’s last hope for the world he had dreamed the Souls would create fell to those who would come after General. He just hoped he could live long enough to see this come to bloom.

Lilies

Journal Entry 6: Am I Alive?

I've been confused a lot lately. Yesterday, I saw a really pretty flower by the Doctor’s lab, and he called it a Lilly. I've never seen anything as beautiful, and now I'm confused about why humans get each other roses to show their love instead of lilies. 

While I was looking at the Lilly, General showed up, and I don't know from where. He told me that the Lilly was better than me because it was alive and I'm not. I don't know why he told me this, but I didn't like it. When I asked the Doctor what General meant, he seemed sad. the Doctor told me that Souls come from the Domain, and no one knows where the Domain came from. So, General doesn't really know if we’re man made or not. 

I think I misunderstood what questions are. Because I thought that, when you ask a question, the person you ask answers. When I ask questions, I just have more. Why don't we know where the Domain came from? Does that mean I'm alive? Why did General call me a machine if even he doesn't know where Souls come from?

I guess I could ask the Doctor again, but I don't want to bother him too much.

Journal Entry 7: My Weapon

I got my weapon today. It’s weird, apparently I've been using a buster to train because my sword wasn't ready. The Doctor told me it was his best sword in a long time. But I don't think I'll keep it. It feels heavy and it's hard to swing. I'll ask the Doctor if I could get my buster back. But that might hurt his feelings, so, I don't know what to do. 

I guess I haven't been alive… I guess I haven't had a body long enough to know which weapon I'll stick with. Maybe the Doctor knows best. The only thing I seem to know is that I don't know. 

Journal Entry 8: Training

I don't like training. It always hurts, but when I get hurt too much, my body isn't damaged at all. And now with my sword it gets super fast and it's hard to keep up. It's been like a dream I can feel and remember. Yesterday I got a cut on my face and I grabbed it because it hurt. He was so mad that I broke my stance to grab my face he stabbed me, and then the stab was gone. It doesn't make sense. 

Pastoral is really lucky. He’s already so good at what he does, he doesn't really need to train on it anymore. I can win a single fight against anyone. General told me I'm a C Rank, the lowest of the low. But when Lady Opera told me about the ranks, she said they’re just used to measure strength, not judge one’s worth. But I don't think that's how everyone else uses it. 

I wanted to talk to General today, but he was yelling at some master with a saber I have hardly ever seen around. He spends most of his time out in the Wastes fighting Malevolent. Maybe tomorrow I can ask General to have my training eased a little. 

Entry 9: Power

General told me I have to learn to fight, because it is my duty to protect the humans of New Harmony. I don't know why, no one ever asked me if I wanted to protect people. If I had to protect anything, it would be the dogs I've met in New Harmony. One came up to me yesterday and licked my face with his long tongue. The dog’s human screamed when she saw me and took the dog away like I was gonna hurt him. I didn't even have my weapon drawn. She just saw my metal body and thought I'd hurt her dog. I don't like humans very much. 

It's never made much sense to me. Humans took me out of the… 

It's never made much sense to me. Humans got me through the Forge and told me to fight for them, but they still fear me. I don't want humans thanking me all the time, but once would be nice. I told this stuff to Pastoral, who’s older and smarter than me, and he told me not to think about it like that. That humans are just scared because they don't understand us. 

But I don't want to be super powerful. Cavatino told me that power was something I could use to protect the things I care about. But everything I care about are already protected by other masters who are a lot stronger than I am, but I still train almost every day and it feels like it's for no reason. 

Entry 10: My Dream

I don't want to train, but I will. I have it all figured out. I want to become really powerful and fight for New Harmony. Maybe if I become strong enough, one day humans won't need Combat Masters and I won't have to fight anymore. If I can make that dream come true, then maybe I can have my own garden like Monday has, and I can have my own lilies. 

Though I don't know where to get lilies from. And I can't use the one by the lab because General killed the flower and said “Octave must focus on his training.”

But he didn't have to. Hymn switched to a mace from his sword, so that makes me one of the only swordsmen in New Harmony. I hate it, but if General keeps training me, I'll become powerful.

Blink

Fiera, a young silver-clad master, spun around at the end of her charge, looping her right foot around into a spinning kick as her left remain on the floor, carrying her forward momentum on the wheels placed at the bottom of her foot. The kick connected to Octave’s right arm in a block, stopping Fieramente’s roll towards him on the instant of contact. The younger master backed away, drawing both of her red, wrist mounted energy blades before charging Octave once more.

“Is this really necessary, General?” Vesper sighed within the observation room of the simulation arena. Despite the chamber’s ability to replicate any environment to do battle in, even areas that no long exist due to the fallout of the War, the two combatants chose the plain white room with the blue grid still activated a few inches above the floor.

“For a Master only decades old, she can give Octave a run for his money. Either she is a truly skilled Soul, or Manhattan’s talent as an engineer is beginning to surface.” General’s gaze was unmoving from the battle, while Vesper’s was affixed judgingly to the side of his head.

“Ignition...” Fiera’s Burnout Cutters, her signature blades, began to glow with a red flame as she detached both from her wrist mounts and grabbed them by a small handle on the base of both weapons. Fieramente shot her left foot in front of herself, quickly stopping her dash to Octave as she pointed both blades at the blue combat masters.

“Detonation!!” The flames engulfed Fieramente’s Burnout Cutters and came searing through the air, attempting to strike Octave. The agile Octave leaped backwards and to the side on his right, expecting to dodge the attack perfectly.

But the horizontal pillars of flames adjusted, curving its trajectory to chase Octave. When he saw the fires closing in on him, SaberMan’s only course of action was to run and avoid the attack as best he could, trying to block or deflect fire seemed redundant and painful. When he finally ran in a full circle, Octave set course for Fieramente’s position, her stance still as she focused to keep the flames affixed to Octave’s position.

“Time-Skimmer.” Octave muttered just loud enough to hear. One of the most powerful abilities out of any A-Ranked master’s arsenal, the time-skimmer allowed Octave to weave in and out of the seconds, giving himself the appearance of rapid short-range teleport at high speeds. In the blink of an eye, Octave was just beside Fiera, his blade arcing upwards, cutting her right cutter by the top of the hilt, destroying the weapon and cutting the potency of the flames behind him by half. In under a second, Octave was on the other side of Fie, her own fire pillar directed right for her.

Too late to save herself from her own attack, Fieramente turned around, throwing her remaining Burnout Cutter into Octave’s back, the blade planting itself between Octave’s shoulder and chest on his right side. A non-fatal hit, but enough to disable use of his saber until the self-repair function could fix it. Though it seemed Fiera had won the day for a second, her detonation attack struck her flat on the back, cutting through the metal on her back and stopping just before coming out the other side.

When the simulation had ended, both masters were near-death and struggling to stave off Lock-Down. In a split second, all their wounds were completely healed, and their position returned into their starting stances from before the battle had begun. Fieramente’s blade had been returned to perfect condition, and Octave’s right arm was without a scratch.

“A truly interesting display of speed and skill.” General clapping, slowly and almost insultingly as he exited the observation room. “But, Fieramente, Octave is the victor. However, you are still the most powerful of the recent Combat Masters, and have given me hope that the more recent warriors are not all without hope.” General patted Fieramente on the shoulder, smiling as he looked to see Octave’s glare pierce through his thick green visor.

“I would have won if I had that Time-Skimmer of yours.” Fieramente crossed her arms and closed her eyes, absolutely sure of every word she had just said.

“And if I had those cutters, you wouldn’t have lasted thirty second.” Octave shot back, snark in his tone and piss in his vinegar.

The two fastest masters glared at each other for a solid ten seconds before drawing their blades once more and continuing the simulation. General stepped back into the observation room, a smirk on his face spanning from ear to ear.

“Octave’s not the rival type, General. I don’t know what you think you’ll accomplish here.” Vesper sighed, turning to exit the room and return to the New Harmony streets.

“It’s not for Octave. He’ll beat her every time… For now.”

I like General's method of specifically pitting robot masters against each other to improve one or both of them and doesn't tell them. It makes the battle and lessons learned more authentic I think. If a robot master went into a fight with the aim of "teaching" rather than winning, the fight might not be representative of what a combat master can truly do.

[Took a long-ass hiatus from writing. Figured a nice MK short story, or an elongated excuse to have a cool fight rather, would be a nice way to revive my brain muscle.]

“... That's what I’m saying! Why doesn't Pastoral just up some posters, hype up the fight, and wipe Hymn across the sim room floor?” Solo ranted, haunting next to the intrigued Octave as they paced across the barren dirt of the Wastes just on the outskirts of Able City.

“I dunno. Pasty’s kinda weird about that douche. Maybe he’s afraid he’ll lose, which is ridiculous. Only thing scary about Hymn is breaking a rule so he can cry to General.” Octave replied, laughing loudly as he jest echoed into nothingness. Between the two powerful, field-tested masters, getting attacked outside the safe walls and barrier of New Harmony would be short work, allowing them time to relax.

Solo sighed after a decent laugh, raising his hand as he opened his mouth to continue the amusing conversation. Before he could do so, however, an explosive crashing rang out through the wilds around them, drawing attention the the ruin city’s skyline as one of the taller skyscrapers came crumbling down.

The decomposition of Able City was common, and tumbling buildings became no more than spectacles parents would walk their kids to view from the tops of New Harmony’s vast, encompassing wall. When Octave was new and awed by the world, the skyline was dense and stretched across the horizon, and the decay of hundreds of years had decimated its former perceived glory.

But this was different. The buildings in the city were spaced generously, and the collapse of buildings had never before been victim to the domino effect before now. Additionally, the domino effect rarely brings down adjacent structures at the same time.

“I guess we should go check that out.” Octave sighed as he crushed a thin layer of dust off the arm, revealing a fresh coat of even and shimmering paint.

“You run ahead, I’ll find a vantage point.” Solo plotted casually, their duo operations frequent enough that this maneuver practically went without saying.

But this encounter would prove to be far beyond casual, or even common. If memories could outlive those who experience them, this would be Solo and Octave’s.

The lightning quick blue master barreled down the crack and faded pavement of the once driven street, leaping leisurely over obstacles of debris and desolate cars as he darted forward. Within minutes Octave had traveled more than a mile into the city to the site of the demolished buildings to investigate needlessly. The villain was standing there, gazing upon his work.

From behind, where Octave approached, the culprit was obviously a master or malevolent of some sort, thick armor around his chest, forearms, and shins. The thin, defenseless limbs, the upper legs and arms, made him appear to be wearing protective gear much too large for him, a common design style for pre-war robot masters who had re-activated confused and usually insane. His armor was a pale and chipped orange, with white arms and legs and what seemed like drills in place of hands.

“I understand you'd get the impression it's okay to blow these buildings up, seeing we usually fight baddies around here and break shit left and right. But, I think this city counts as a historical landmark, so if you could stop blowing these up, that’d be-” Octave started, cut off by the rude intrusion of the mysterious master.

“Stop? Why would I stop?” The master asked in a calm, but unsettling tone without turning, his eyes likely fixated on the wreckage sitting in front of him.”

Octave looked around at the destroyed buildings, three in a row had tumbled to their foundations, peppering surrounding buildings with chucks of deteriorated materials all over. Smoke rose from the piles and flew into the air like signal fires telling all nearby carnage was underway.

“Mostly because you shouldn't hold grudges against buildings. They don't do much.” Octave’s visor and mouthguard slid into place over his eyes and mouth as his shimmering blue saber activated with an electronic hum, his humanoid right hand pulling itself apart and retracting into his forearm to release the hilt of his blade. His stance widened, his feet facing in non parallel positions to stabilize his body as he held his left hand palm in front of his, arm straight, while his saber remained next to his head, arm bent.

“You make jokes about another’s passions without knowing their love for the art you see before you.” The stranger observed, strangely.

“You talk weirdly, without knowing how freaked out you make people who hear you.” Octave shot back, his stance unflinching and his eyes affixed to his target.

The master turned to reveal a orange orb protruding from his chest, just a touch darker in color than the rest of his armor, and in a lot nicer condition. His helmet was attached with a forward pointing white tip just above where it revealed his Caucasian-tone face and widened eyes.

“I awoke in a world more in need of my services than the one I retired from. Many buildings needed to be destroyed, blown up, sent crashing to the ground, because they were old. They needed to clear away the bad to raise these very towers that stand before us. But now, much of these buildings I helped create are decrepit and disgusting. Just like you in your thin. Weak. Frame.” The master drones on, ending with his drill-hands pointing directly at Octave, mere meters in front of him.

Octave’s pose straightened, unbending his legs and letting his hand and saber rest near his sides as his head tilted.

“Wait. How do you blow up buildings with just drills. Because, well, that's just impressive.”

“Wanna see?”

The master’s drill detached from his forearm, another quickly taking its place as the first flew through the air at Octave. The quick master spun himself as he stepped to the side, hastily dodging the projectile and turning to watch as it hit, exploded, and totally demolished a small store just across the street.

“Oh. See, that helps. I'm more of a visual learner.” Octave returned to his former position, facing his opponent before leaping forward, pulling his saber towards the inside of his body and slashing outwards at the master’s right side.

Without fear of Octave’s mighty saber, the enigmatic enemy simply raised his arm, stopping the energy blade completely with barely a scratch to his gauntlet armor, stoically unmoved by the attack. Seeing this, Octave hopped back.

“What did you used to do? Stand in buildings as you blew them up?” Octave joked, worrying internally as to how effective his blade will be in the coming fight.

“Yes. I am CRASH MAN! DESTROYER OF BUILDINGS! Fear my impenetrable wall of armor capable of withstanding nuclear blasts, let alone measly swords!” Crash Man exclaimed, his drill-hands raised in the air triumphantly.

“Uh-huh… Solo?”

Without a word over the communications line, Solo fired a shot from his multi-buster, a weapon capable of transforming itself into all manner of firearm types. The specific type, the long-buster, was a sniper rifle that fired energy-based rounds meant to take out thick malevolent frames and sometimes small buildings for fun.

The shot rang out from the short rooftops of nearby stores and Main Street houses. Crash Man shot his glance at that direction as the shot hit its mark at center mass, meaning to blow the frame apart while leaving the integrated circuit inside Crash Man’s skull intact. The round bounced off with a loud cracking noise as it ricocheted into the nearby rubble, blowing it into the sky, adding to the smoke polluting the air.

“~That's not good.~” Solo commented over the radio, his redundant claim causing Octave to look over at him, leering through the shining glass of his visor.
 
“No shit!”

Crash Man hastily rose his arm once more and fired while Octave was looking away, but at the ground in front of him. The blast sent the blue master falling on his back, but using the momentum of the fall he rolled over his shoulder and regained his footing well before the dust before him settled. Crash came leaping through the cover of smoke, slashing at the much faster Octave with his drills before attempting to fire directly at him from a close range. Octave side-stepped the shot and moved on for a more fatal attack than his last: a slash to the weaker exposed neck where his armor ended to allow efficient head movement.

Proving more effective than his last effort, Octave let out an audible sigh of discouragement to realize that his thin and exposed “weak points” were armored enough to efficiently defend against his saber as well. With a laugh, Crash Man jumped into the air, his drill-hands pointed downward, and fired, launching himself up higher and Octave backwards even further. This time, however, the blast was too close for him to roll and recover from.

On his back, injured, exposed, and with a newly ruined paint job, Octave looked straight up into the sky to see a barrage of drill missiles descending straight on top of him. With indirect blasts powerful enough to shake his incorrectly titled “weak” and “thin” frame, this many direct shots had a decent chance of killing the hero.

“Time-Skimmer!” Octave blurted out too quickly to make out into intelligible speech, but it was enough to activate the ability in his frame.

From Crash Man’s perspective, it seemed as if Octave was teleporting, almost too quickly to see, between the missiles in the air and towards him. In actuality, Octave’s supremely advanced frame allowed him a form of short-range time travel, to move between seconds as time stopped for short bits of time.

After only few seconds, while still in and falling through the air, Crash Man had lost track of his target, just as his barrage hit and totaled the street below him. Suddenly, a pair of thick metal boots slammed down onto his feet, pushing down to earth at an alarming speed, and within a moment he was face-first in the simmering pavement he had just drill-’sploded.

As he rose, Crash Man awkwardly used his drill-hands to wipe away bits of floor from his face. Once fully upright, he looked in front, behind, and to the left of him with no sight of Octave. He turned his body to the right, just in time to see an ancient, rusted, and recently thrown vehicle come at and impact his face, sending him skipping down the street like a pebble on a still like along with what seemed to be a truck.

No matter how thick the armor, blunt facial damage at that level was bound to knock a few bits of hardware loose in anyone’s skull. In the moments it took Crash Man to compose himself, he was already hearing the taunting from Octave as he strolled down the street.

“Hey! Mr. Compensation! Think your mighty frame’s ready to cut yet, or does it need more integrity loss? I-I can look for some more trucks if ya want, but me might not wanna waste that one yet. That model’s pretty rare now.” Octave yelled down the street as he heard Solo giggle from behind the comm relay.

Atop a nearby building, Solo’s ineffectual long-buster’s scope was fixated on Crash Man’s face, ready to distract should the fight start to go against Octave’s favor.

“So… Why’d they call you Crash Man? Was Demolition Man taken? Too long? Too direct? Too sane?” Octave, now closing in on the still recovering Crash Man, stopped, readying himself for an onslaught of missiles in retaliation.

“I… Did not awaken… Too be MOCKED!” Crash Man regained composure suddenly from a fatigued position, his chest gem splitting in half and revealing a chest cannon about as wide as his actual chest. From inside the barrel a bright yellow light shone out, so bright that it threatened to outshine the late-afternoon sunlight basking down on the city.

From the cannon, a thick laser shot straight outwards, destroying the debris in its way of Octave, and when the swordsman jumped out of the way, it melted through everything else in its path as far as the eye can see.

But Crash Man’s ultimate attack was not a one shot pony, as Octave dodged, Crash pivoted his chest to lead the laser to follow him, demolishing a good portion of the city around them. As Octave jumped around, avoiding being smitten by the attack, he noticed that, as he leapt over the laser, the very tip of his saber touched the light and redirected it.

With the plan set in motion in his mind, Saber Man began avoiding the last in a forward motion, leaping from side to side of the beam as he gained ground on Crash Man. Eventually, when he got close enough, Solo contributed another powerful but ineffective shot to Crash’s head with just enough power to tilt his body away from Octave long enough to allow him to drive his saber home, placing the thickest part to the flat side of his sober directly in front of the laser beam barrel. The reflected attack shot inward, quickly blowing Crash Man and Octave away.

“Octave!” Solo cried, leaping from the building and dashing as quickly as he could toward the smoke and dust of the explosion. On the floor, battered but not broke, was Octave. His visor was cracked, his synthetic skin was burnt, and his paint job was officially ruined, but he was okay.

“That… that was a weird one.” Octave stated weakly as Solo assisted him to stand.

As the smoke cleared, bits of Crash Man’s frame came into view, his arms, legs, drill hands, and finally, his head and upper torso, all in much worse and more dismembered than Octave’s.

As Octave and Solo walked to his body to extract the integrated circuit as protocol dictates, they notice a good chunk of his skull had been blown apart, his fractured circuit exposed and in the process of shutting down.

“I… loved this city…” Octave and Solo jumped, re-arming their weapons as they stood in shock that Crash was capable of speech.

“Did not all masters lockdown after massive damage?” Solo asked Octave, who shrugged and leaned in to hear what Crash Man had to say.

“I destroyed the ugly… to make room… for the beautiful… the doctor… would show me every building I helped create… and shut me down until I was needed.” Crash Man’s integrated circuit was dying from the damage, and as it did, his voice began to deepen and slow.

“... and now… all I see is… ugly… the beauty is gone… all gone… all…”

“Wow. I almost feel kinda bad for the old… Wait, Octave.” Solo paused in place as he watched Octave grab the dying master in his hands and dash off down the street full speed without saying a word.

In mere moments, as the last of Crash Man’s cranial functions began to fade, Octave reached the top of the nearest Able City skyscraper Crash didn't blow up and pointed his head toward the horizon. Towards New Harmony.

“Everything here is ugly because… Well, because they moved all the beauty somewhere new.” Octave spoke softly as he held Crash’s broken remains in front of him.

Unlike Octave or Solo, Crash Man wasn't a forged soul. He wasn't trapped in the domain, and his consciousness wasn't something born, but rather made. He lived his life before the war doing what he was built to do like a machine. But Octave figured, if pre-war masters like Crash didn't have souls, then why would he find beauty in the destruction he caused? Was it because he wa programmed to, or was Crash Man part of a line of robot masters that evolved into his current stream of consciousness?

Either saw the beauty of humanity's last hope in the last moments before he shut down.

Deep, thunderous impacts resounded like drum beats throughout a dented, cratered, otherwise grassy and serene field. Beyond the tall, hard light fences, several citizens watched with binoculars and remotely controlled drones; this was a Robot Master only zone for outdoor sparring. A human coming near without protective equipment would be incredibly dangerous.

Several soldiers guarded the perimeter, making sure idiots didn't jump the fence and get themselves killed. One of the soldiers lifted a tactical pad when it loudly buzzed. He looked into it, furrowing his weather worn brow. "On your toes, soldiers! Two Robot Masters, inbound!"

Seconds later, a brown blur slammed down against the grass, followed by a similar blue glow. Pastoral and Octave looked at each-other, resuming the conversation they'd been having before they teleported.

"It just seems dumb. I want to fight someone up close and personal, not fight a bunch of guys in a mosh pit." Octave complained at Pastoral, who raised his visor to look him in the eye.

Octave seemed visibly annoyed to have been dragged out here, but Pastoral was taking his complaints in stride, as ever. "It sounds dumb, but it's really fun. It's, like, an old ritual Chord told me about from when he was fielded in battle. Shouldn't you at least try it before writing it off?"

Before Octave could continue the verbal spar, the guard's leader stepped forward, his mustache crinkling as he pursed his lips to speak. "Excuse me. I've been told to inform all Robot Masters to refrain from the use of any tool enhancements, firearms, or abilities. Scans indicate that you, PulseMan, are in possession of one Polar Star-V variant arm cannon, and one unregistered, custom built firearm with a fusion power source."

"It's unregistered because Dr. Manhattan recently installed it. The Eastern Arms Ministry put it together a few months back. I'm doing a testing run." Pastoral grinned, lifting his right arm and shaking it; in an instant, the working parts formed his lethal, golden arm cannon. The nearby civilians yelped in fear, and Pastoral put it away. "Sorry, folks. I was just showing him my weapon." After Pastoral calmed them down, there were a few scattered claps of applause.

"Well, you're not testing 'em here. If you discharge either of your guns, even by mistake while humans are within sixty meters of the fence, we'll have to remove you from the premises. Multiple infractions will result in your transfer to a non-combat body until arbitration is complete." The stern man stood with shoulders squared, as if trying to intimidate Pastoral. While physically smaller, Pastoral didn't seem very threatened.

"Hah." Octave snorted. "Guess you can't use your guns, bro. Sucks for you."

"Actually, it sucks for you as well. Scanners indicate you have a modified Era One Light Spear in your lower right arm...wait, that can't be right..." As the security guard tapped away at his pad, Octave turned to Pastoral.

"What's he mean, 'spear?' My arm's a sword, dorky meatbag."

"Yeah, but your sword's housing and generators are built from a modified light spear that humans used to use to fight Malevolents. Y'know, before they had us Robot Masters." Pastoral was ever the history buff; fusing with Album to help him organize damaged files rubbed that effect off on him.

"Huh. Neat." Octave activated his weapon, his blade stretching up and glowing. The security guard jumped with horror.

"Hold the fucking phone. That's powered by nuclear energy?"

Octave gave the man a confused, incredulous look. "Well yeah. It's microfusion. Robot Masters run on it, and my sword runs on a shitload of it. Y'know. To cut through those Malevolents that you don't have to fight. Thank you, microfusion, thank you Octave's arm, thank you Octave. Stop wasting our time and get out of our way."

The security guard furrowed his brow, and dipped a hand into his belt. "What's he doing now?" Octave asked. The security guard reached out, and placed a small object on Octave's arm. Suddenly, Octave felt a numb feeling in his forearm.

Octave Diagnostic Readout:

"What the fuck...?" Octave shook his arm, then gripped the object on his arm. It was black, and shaped like a hockey puck. When Octave tried to pry it off, he felt his fingers lose strength. "Is it a bug? I don't like bugs. Get it off."

"That is a weapons system disabler. It disables all weapons systems in an uncooperative Robot Master. It's got a subroutine, preventing the affected robot from removing it of their own volition. Whenever you try to grab it, your fingers won't grip it. Try to strike it, and you'll miss." The security guard drew a piece of gum from his pocket, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing smugly. "It will automatically deactivate in twelve hours."

"Uncooperative? The fuck didn't I cooperate with? I didn't do anything, you motherf-"

"It's fine, Octave. Twelve hours without your sword won't kill you. It's not like we're in the field." Pastoral shrugged. "Besides, we won't be using our weapons anyway."

Octave tried to activate his saber, and the inner workings of his arm visibly flexed, before the activation failed and he was left with his humanoid arm. "Fuck you, dude." Octave pointed at the security officer who had effectively booted his weapon. With that, he and Pastoral bent at the knee, and jumped. Hurtling thirty meters into the air, they grasped the edge of the fence and dropped down. The air whistled past them until they landed on the ground on the other side of the fence, kicking up dislodged grass and dirt. The two sauntered away from the fence, leaving the security guard to bask in his victory.

---

"I can't believe that guy. I ought to send his nose-bone into his brain." As Octave spoke, Pastoral shot him a scathing look. "What? I was gonna say I can't do that. Robot Master. Besides, it'd be too easy. And messy. They're all like play-dough. How do they even stand up?"

"Dr. Manhattan is a human," Pastoral calmly intoned. "So was Monday."

Octave visibly seethed, giving Pastoral a half-hearted shove. "They obviously don't count. Why you gotta be so freaking moral?! That guy booted my saber! United front!"

Pastoral nodded. "You're not wrong about that human being a jerk. He reminds me of a certain, purple, out-of-practice S-Rank."

"Ugh. Bringing up Hymn is just gonna make me more pissed off." Octave folded his arms, his fists audibly tightning, like leather gloves against handlebars.

"Good. The whole point of the ritual is to vent aggression, so you can see clearly during battle. Get as mad as you want, as long as you don't use your saber."

"I CLEARLY CAN'T USE MY FUCKING SABER, PASTORAL."

"Oh. Right. Well, then we're set." Pastoral grinned as Octave glared at him. As the two spoke, they walked towards the staging area for the brawl. "Oh, and try not to let Chord hit you full on. You've never been punched by him in a controlled environment. It might put you offline for a few seconds."

Octave rolled his eyes. "Yeah right. I've been hit by literal wrecking balls and held my ground. Beyond that, even without Time-Skimmer, I can dodge that old guy all day."

"If you say so." Pastoral and Octave both shuddered when a deep, resonating impact shook the ground. It sounded like the brawl was already going on. The two made haste, sprinting towards the source of the noise.

Author's Note wrote:Is Octave's confidence well placed? How successful will the brothers be in a free-for-all battle without their weapons? Find out next time!

As expected, the melee had already begun in force. Sparks flew as Industrial and Combat Masters alike sparred. Octave watched for a moment, unimpressed as Pastoral bounced on his toes, getting ready. "So, do we just jump in or somethin'?"

"Hold on. I'm betting Chord's gonna call us out." Pastoral watched patiently as a tremendous yellow Robot Master in the distance fought with a spry red combatant.

ThermoMan paced around, throwing heavy, rapid kicks. He was grossly outsized by his opponent; Chord, named ForeMan during his working hours, was over a dozen feet tall, stooped and serious with powerful, bulky limbs. As ThermoMan thrust a powerful roundhouse, Chord simply batted it away, knocking ThermoMan off balance.

Chord grinned, and simply dropped a hand down onto ThermoMan's helmet, jarring the robot to his knees. "Get lost, shrimp!" Lifting ThermoMan to his shoulder, Chord tossed him high into the distance. He watched the robot turn into a red speck over the horizon. Had Chord used his ability, the Deluxe Arm, Thermo Man may have stricken the barrier dome of the city. Turning, the brutal old craftsman spotted Pastoral, his eyes widening. He broke out into a massive grin when he saw Pastoral's brother. "THE TWINS! I've been waiting to beat both of you down at once!"

"...You callin' me out?" Octave raised his eyebrow, bemused. He turned to Pastoral. "Pastoral. He called me out. Confirm?"

"Indeed. As I informed you before. He's callin' us out."

"YOU CALLIN' ME OUT?!" Octave turned his furious gaze towards Chord.

"I'M CALLIN' YOU OUT!!!" Chord, affirming his position on the matter, stomped forward, fists clenched. In a display of agility and grace that astounded Octave, Chord rolled over his shoulder, then beat both fists into the ground, the force sending him nearly thirty meters into the fresh air, his silhouette black and vague against the blue sky and white clouds.

Pastoral lowered his visor as Octave glanced between Chord and his brother, genuinely astounded. "...Is he wearing a jetpack?" Octave scratched his head. "Did he just punch jump?"

"...If we don't move, he might actually kill us when he lands." Pastoral blew air through his teeth, turned, and jogged away. Octave stood there for a moment, eclipsed by the shrinking shadow of the falling Chord. The man had turned in the air, and was pointing both fists towards the earth, like he intended to swim through the ground. Octave, taking a cue from his brother, sprinted in the opposite direction.

In a deafening landing, Chord cratered the grass Octave was standing on. The force sent him hurtling away. Landing on his hands, Octave spun to his feet. "HOLY CRAP! THAT WAS AWESOME!" Octave suddenly noticed the ground underneath him was cracking, and his feet were being dragged apart by a tear in the dirt. Chord had indeed swum through the soil. He exploded up from under Octave, who stepped on his shoulder as the brute charged forward, clearing his face.

Pound for pound, Octave was damn sure he was facing the strongest opponent he'd ever seen. Balancing, Octave jumped from Chord's shoulder and stomped down on his head, scoring a kick. Chord reached up and pinched the sides of Octave's winged helmet. Holy shit his fingers are like tuna cans. Before he knew it, the blue Robot Master was slammed face first into the dirt.

"I GOT 'EM OCTAVE!" Pastoral lurched forward, dropping a savage elbow onto the top of Chord's head. The surprise attack actually managed to stun the huge yellow robot, allowing Octave to get up and get clear.

As Pastoral rallied to throw another attack, he was stricken from the side by a silver blur. Another Robot Master, HammerMan, blindsided Pastoral, throwing a right hook into the robot's cheek. "I like sneak attacks too, kid!" Pastoral quickly moved to his feet, preparing for a fair fight.

"Fuck 'em up, Pasty!" Octave took his eye off Chord. A huge mistake.

Octave turned just in time to see a titanium plated fist the size of a watermelon. It made contact with his chest. Octave's ribcage folded almost completely flat, his core rattling and temporarily shutting down under the force of the blow. His body swung backwards, landing in his back embedded in the dirt. "HUGZZT."

For a moment, everything was dark while Octave's systems rebooted. Jerking upright and to his feet, Octave reloaded his previous build and accessed what the fuck was going on in a millisecond. "HOLY SHIT! You almost killed me!"

Chord grinned and shrugged. "I thought tagging you would be harder. Your brother said you're fast!"

Octave nodded. "Oh, I'll show you fast." The blue Robot Master paced on his feet, before bursting forward. Chord raised his defenses, guarding his head as Octave peppered the robot with kicks from every angle. Octave's shin drummed against Chord's back, then he leaped, turned, and hammered another into the side of the robot's head. Chord, spotting Octave through his tight guard, threw an uppercut at the robot.

In a display of technical mastery, Octave caught Chord's massive arm, turned in mid-air, stepped on Chord's back, and arched so hard that it made him punch himself in the face. Dropping low, Octave rammed his shoulder against the back of Chord's leg. As the yellow Industrial Master fell backwards. Octave jumped, slamming both fists down on Chord's chest and driving him onto his back. For a moment, it seemed Octave had the advantage.

Meanwhile, Pastoral was getting the better of his opponent. Stepping in close and drilling his right fist into HammerMan's armored torso, he took the advantage. As HammerMan moved forward with a swing, Pastoral grasped his waist, moved behind him, and suplexed HammerMan into the dirt. Buried face-down up to his waist, HammerMan angrily kicked his legs. Pastoral turned to see Octave standing on Chord's chest. "WOOOO HOOOOOO! We're winning!"

"Fuck yeah!" As Octave gleefully performed a victory dance on Chord's abdomen, the yellow robot reached up and grabbed the back of Octave's head.  Chord turned Octave's face towards his, headbutting the blue robot. "OW..." Octave gripped his broken nose; it'd take a minute or two before autorepair could fix the damage. Lifting Octave like a baseball, Chord pit brother against brother, hurling Octave directly at Pastoral, who wasn't quick or wily enough to dodge.

Octave thudded against Pastoral, landing on top of him. Chord, standing over the brothers, grasped HammerMan by the legs, lifting the silver master. Chord examined him. "Your helmet kinda looks like a hammer. I always wondered if it'd work like a hammer."

"DON'T DO IT, BOSS!!!" HammerMan thrashed and squirmed as Chord lifted him to smash Octave and Pastoral.

Octave covered his face, cowering for the first time in quite a while. "PASTORAL! BLOCK IT!"

"I don't have a shield, and you're on top! YOU BLOCK IT!" Pastoral threw his arms over his helmet and pulled himself into a fetal position, hoping that Octave would take the brunt of the assault. Chord, laughing maniacally, prepared to administer a beat-down that he'd remember fondly for decades.

Bad John wrote:Looks like them Robot Boys are up to no good. Who will come out on top in this robotic brawl? What will Octave learn from the outcome? Will HammerMan ever forgive Chord for taking the "Man" out of his name?

Find out in the third and final installment of this short series.