Metallic Knights

Please enjoy the new, and improved version of John & Vale's own rendition of the MegaMan Universe.

Set far ahead in the future, in a world desolate due to a long-lost war, humanity has recovered and set a hub for itself in a metropolis named New Harmony. At it's center, a colossal metallic sphere protruding out of the earth gave birth to the thriving cities due to its limitless amounts of energy and mysterious signals.

Dubbed, The Domain, it is considered the single most valuable discovery since the War. From the Domain, AI that seem naturally occurring are capable of being extracted through a funnel called The Forge. From this, humans extract thousands upon thousands of self-aware disembodied intelligence called Souls. While most of the Souls, sadly, are either unintelligent or outright insane, some are considered valuable and useful to the New Harmony society, these Souls that are given bodies are called Robot Masters. The most stable and willful of the Robot Masters are built bodies capable of devastating acts of war. These are called Combat Masters, or the Metallic Knights.

This story follows the paths of two Combat Masters named Pastoral (PulseMan) and Octave (SaberMan), brothers in every sense of the word, and their comrades as they defend New Harmony against the biggest threat out in the ruins of the old war; the evil, rejected Souls called Malevolent.

One

The Wastes were a harsh, desolate place. For the lone human, it was almost impossible to survive out here. The only people that survived were in groups, be it nomadic or settled. Despite that, it wasn’t a very high quality of life and they spent most days wondering if it was their last. Starvation, animals, Malevolent, and so much more were lurking around every corner ready to tear them apart. That was why they were out here, far beyond the safety of the city walls.

Octave sat at the base of a destroyed highway bridge. Huge sections of the highway were destroyed as well for almost a mile down the road, but the section Octave was at seemed to the the epicenter of it all. Atop a pile of rubble unmoved for hundreds of years, there was a fallen fuel truck, any paint or logo on it lost in time. Beneath it was a worn, rusted, and long dead hand belonging to a simply made robot, something once known as a Reploid. Whatever the story was with this bridge, it mattered little now. The long lost war ended in near extinction for humans, and total annihilation for all Reploids. While some cults hold the belief that the Reploids lost in this war were suck up and spat back out by the Domain, Octave never gave it much thought.

The blue, human-sized Robot Master stood back up after crouching to observe the rotted hand. He calmly placed two fingers on the side of his head and walked away from the site he’d just spent of good amount of time observing. “Pasty, this is Octave, come in.” Octave called, with no response beside static and bits of unrelated signals. With a sigh, Octave kicked a large rock on the ground in front of him and made for the rendezvous point he and Pastoral had agreed on. the Abel Ruins were a huge place, and though they had look all over the place for human settlements, there were many other places to look. It would be more than a few trips to cover this entire city.

Before Octave could get too far, he heard a large explosion coming from behind him, on the other side of the destroyed highway. Without a moment’s thought, Octave ran towards the explosion, going at a low speed to conserve energy in case he had to fight.

Another explosion lit off moments later, the smoke from the first hadn’t even faded. After the initial shockwave, Octave could hear faint screaming sounds. human screaming sounds. With the mission he came out here for now in jeopardy, Octave kicked his speed up a notch, moving at about 75% of his fastest speed, he became a thin blue blur to the human eye. In almost an instant, Octave scaled a building and jumped from rooftop to rooftop until he came to the site of the explosions. To his relief, the impacts were merely on the sides of distant buildings, the large group of humans completely safe. In front of the cowering people were four Malevolent frames, two about the size of a human and the other two much larger. The smaller ones were lighter colored, one pale white with very well-kept armor, likely a New Harmony diserter. The other was a light gray, but his head was covered with a dusty brown cowl that went over his face and down to his elbows. The larger ones seemed to be the brawn of whatever operation they had going on, one was a blocky, brown, brute looking monster, and the other was a purple, well-kept, rusted Malevolent with two cannons for arms.

The Malevolent had the humans cornered in this rectangular plaza-type area. Dead patches of grass in four fields of triangles were surrounded by cracked and aged concrete. Surrounding the plaza on one side was a brick wall, the one which the Malevolent held the human’s backs to. The area wasn’t too small, but random explosions everywhere could have devastating collateral.

Just as Octave was thinking about how improbable it would be for him to take all four of them on at once, the large brown one and the small white one left the area for whatever reason while they left the other two to mug the humans. After waiting for a few minutes, to make sure the other two were well away from him, Octave came in closer, remaining undetected for as long as he possibly can.

“Please! Just take whatever you want and let us go!” A man from the group of people pleaded on his knees, hands in the air as if praying, to the large purple Malevolent. He stepped forward slowly, gun-arms lowered to his sides, and kicked the man in the torso, sending him flying into another one of the people in his group, blood spilling out of the man’s mouth.

“I’ll ask one last time,” The gray, hooded one started, “have you had any contact with New Harmony Robot Masters.” The mysterious Malevolent’s voice seemed familiar to Octave, but he was too far away to be sure.

“We saw two pass through the other day!” A woman started, running up to the injured man and holding him. She seemed significantly younger than the graying man, young enough to be his daughter but Octave wasn’t too sure nor did he really care. “We hid, we didn’t even talk to them!”

Despite his loyalty to New Harmony and the survival of humans, Octave cared very little for the lives of humans. When he was born, he was more curious of the fleshy talking meat-sacks. As he grew older, his loyalties rested more in the New Harmony Robot Masters he’d grown up with and called family. While Octave did care greatly about a few humans, like Doctor Manhattan, who built improved on his frame after Doctor Monday, the man who built Octave’s body, passed away. Humans were simply too short-lived to connect to.

“So they’re probably nearby. Not good. Glass ‘em Napalm.” The shrouded Malevolent waved the people off as he began to walk away, and Octave knew he couldn’t stand up there much longer.

“WHOA, hey, hey!” Octave cried as he jumped from the rooftop he used as a perch, landing on the ground between the people and the Malevolent. “Why don’t we just let the fleshy people go, and we’ll talk this out like gentle-” As Octave stepped closer to the Malevolent, he got a look into the cold, gray eyes of the shrouded Malevolent, and the mere sight of him sent Octave to the floor, a sharp pain overcoming his body. His mind suddenly abandoned all else and he remembered spinning and crashing and screaming in an endless whirlwind, two faceless strangers holding Octave close as he saw others who were completely alone. Some grasped at him, but they were spinning around in the typhoon too fast for him to grab hold of them, so all he could do is make sure his grip stayed with these other two as they cascaded in circles uncontrollably. The pain was sharp and unbearable, and the fear and coldness shook Octave to his very core. He’d been there so long that he couldn’t remember anything before, he couldn’t even remember how he ended up in the tight, caring grasp of these two, all he could remember was spinning and crashing and freezing and hurting, and then the images in Octave’s head stopped, and he looked to find himself on his hands and knees, gasping for air he didn’t have to breathe. When he looked up, the shrouded Malevolent was experiencing the same, but before Octave could recover, he took of running, leaving the disoriented blue Robot Master with the giant purple Malevolent.

“How dare you interrupt my business you sniveling weakling!” the purple Malevolent exclaimed as he kicked Octave into the wall from the floor, him still unable to recover. Luckily, the people had already used the distraction Octave gave to escape to whatever hole they were going to somewhere in the city. And after this situation was solved, Octave would have to go looking for them all over again.

“You know, you have very nice armor for a bucket.” Octave said, weakly, still recovering from the episode he’d just had.

“You will bow before the explosive power of I, Napalm!” The large, rusted purple machine before him stomped up to Octave with a sense of pride, purpose, and weight. Standing feet above the human-sized Octave, Napalm seemed a mountain of insurmountable power and resolve. To the lesser Robot Master, this Malevolent war-machine would seem too great to overcome. However, Octave was far from lesser.

“Right, right, right. Whatever.” Octave used the loud enemy’s talkative nature to stand up. A smarter foe would have blown him away when he was down. Though, once Octave recovered, he observed the foe, disregarding the threatening tone and large cannons on his chest for the oddity of Napalm’s body. The war against the Malevolence has always been quality versus quantity. Every day, hundreds of souls are extracted from the Domain using the Forge, almost all of which are Malevolent. The ratio is so one sided that when two souls qualify as Robot Masters a decade, its considered fantastic. “Where’d you get the body?” every Malevolent Octave’s ever faced was a poorly built frame that broke down with little effort on his part. Of course, there’s been a few nicer ones, but never this nice.

“I will warn you no more! Bow before me or be destroyed!” Napalm ignored the question as his right arm retracted and transformed into a long barrel cannon.He aimed it at the unconcerned Octave and readied a shell. “BOW!”

“I just got polished, ‘Palmy. Manhattan would kill me if I got scuffed already.” Octave brushed off the dent and scuff on his chest from the kick, which annoyed him. But Octave knew very well that his comment would invoke fire from Napalm. As he spoke, Octave’s black mouth cover and green visor shot out from the top and bottom of the frame of his face connected to his helmet. He held his right arm out as the cogs and gears became exposed, hiding his humanoid arm inside and revealing his sword hilt connected to his forearm. From the metallic hilt shot forth a blue energy, the same color as Octave’s armor, that formed a sword that hummed as it activated. With that process completed in seconds, Octave finished his comment and readied himself for combat.

“How DARE you!” Napalm shouted as he fired his shell from his arm, sending an explosion to the ground where Octave was standing, but by the time it hit, Octave was circling his was to Napalm’s right side, moving at a dizzying speed. Reacting just in time, Napalm brought his large foot up to kick the smaller opponent, but Octave was quick, dodging the kick as he passed the large purple Malevolent.

Octave continued out into the more exposed street, which laid shaded between tall but ruined building. The lumbering Napalm ran slowly after him, and when Octave felt the area was more advantageous for him, he turned around sharply and slid as he did. This being a moment of vulnerability, Napalm readied both arms as cannons and fired rapidly, covering the entire street with fiery explosions, breaking away parts of the large buildings to both sides of the street.

“Fool! You were not fast enough for the wrath of Napalm!” The purple giant shouted as he lifted his cannons in the air in celebration of his easy victory. But before he could finish, Napalm heard a cry from the smoke of the explosions and saw the small blue foe running along the side of a building to his right. Octave jumped from the building’s wall and landed before Napalm, rolling as he hit the floor. Before Napalm could react, however, Octave slashed shallow cuts into the front of both of Napalm’s legs before finishing with an upwards vertical cut going from his groin to the top of his chest, disabling Napalm’s large chest-cannon.

“How’s that for fast?” Octave teased, not expecting the swiftness of Napalm’s retaliation. A long arm-cannon came downward to Octave’s side, swatting him to the side and into a downward parking structure beneath a decrepit office building. “Ah!” Octave slid on his back for several yards into the structure until he recovered, rolling backwards over his shoulder and onto his feet.

Octave observed all around him, cars and support beams surrounded him in the dark structure, but no back exit t be seen, only ramps for vehicles to travel upwards and stairs for pedestrians to access. The only way out was the way in, so Octave started sprinting forwards.

As Octave ran to the exit, Napalm stepped forward and took aim. “DIE!” he practically screamed as he began to rapidly fire all around Octave, surrounding the robot in flames as he blew the support beams apart. Realizing just now the possibility of caving the structure in on Octave, Napalm began firing at the concrete beams in front of Octave, a large fragment of one of the beams flying and knocking Octave off balance. Recovering quickly, Octave continued his full speed dash to the exit. Despite his speed, he knew there was no way to make it before all crumbled on top of him unless he stepped it up. “TIME-SKIMMER” Octave cried as concrete and steel surrounded and buried him.

“Scuffed knees are preferable to crushed a Soul fool! I, Napalm, am once again vict-” The victorious purple Malevolent stopped, hearing metal clanking on concrete from the opposite side of the street. “What…?”

“Oh, don’t think I’m not pissed!” Octave brushed his shoulder of light gray dust with him weaponless arm. “The amount of buffing my back is gonna need will drive me up the fucking wall!” Octave shouted just before he dashed forward, ending on the opposite side of Napalm. As the large Malevolent went to turn towards his opponent, he fell to his hands and knee, as his right leg was severed completely at the knee.

“My perfect frame! My flawless craftsmanship! The Maker will DESTROY YOU!” Napalm, frantic and livid, began firing from his left cannon while he propped himself up with his right. Missing every shot as Octave seemed to teleport, the remnants of the office building above the destroyed parking structure began to rattle. “How? How do you move so fast! WHO BUILT YOU SO PERFECTLY!?”

“That is called Time-Skimmer, you bucket.” Octave started, watching the battery icon on his visor, “It’s one of my special abilities built into this body just for me. It amps up my sensory array and movement so high that I move in-between the seconds. When you shoot, it’s like dodging a balloon someone threw at me.” Octave loved explaining his powers to enemies he knows he’ll destroy, almost to a fault. He was a powerful Robot Master and was extremely skilled with his blade, but he was far from the best, despite what he’d tell you.

“ONE of your special abilities?” Napalm asked, still in awe of Octave’s pure speed, a skill he’d never seen used practically before. “Are there others?”

“Allow me a demonstration!” Octave shouted, a large smile glowing beneath his mouth cover while Napalm’s eyes widened in fear. “HEADHUNTER!” Octave shouted with a mighty echo as he turned to the worn office building. Octave’s shining blue sword turned blood red and grew exponentially to about the size of Octave’s entire body. In an instant, Octave turned and hacked off Napalm’s left arm-cannon and, without moving, he slashed towards the building, a red shockwave shooting forward and demolishing the bottom, just above the filled entrance of the parking structure.

“Bye.” Octave waved before dashing a safe distance away from the building. Within moments, the building collapsed on top of the crippled Napalm, and it was more than safe to assume it killed him. Octave was pretty sure a building could kill some of the strongest Robot Master he knew.

Suddenly, the sharp pain shot back again, sending Octave to his knees as the images from before flashed upon him again. This time, however, he saw Pastoral’s face in one.

“Who are you!?” The shrouded Malevolent held up a crude, but still deadly buster to Octave from behind, pressing the barrel against the back of his head.

“Shit.” Octave hissed under his breath, still loudly enough for the foe to hear.

“What?” The Malevolent asked due to the odd response to his question.

“I was hoping you knew.” Octave said calming before jumping backwards, his back smashing into the center of the Malevolent’s weight. Octave recovered and turned around and drew his sword in one swift motion, the glowing blue blade drawing as he swung it from his hip to the Malevolent’s head. The foe, being quicker than Octave guessed, grabbed the hilt of Octave’s blade and pushed it down. Now eye to eye, the sharp pain became almost unbearable for both of them, but they both endured, to falter now would mean death.

“I… Am SaberMan... A Robot Master of New… Harmony…” Octave struggled, attempting to fight the pain while fighting for control of his blade almost proved too much. “Who… Are… You…”

Suddenly, the light gray Malevolent made a face as if he realized something before he said, cryptically;“You can call me 95, Octave.” 95 smirked as he finished, and he suddenly flashed blue, the same shade as Octave, and his right hand shifted from being a buster to being a sword almost exactly like Octave’s. 95 kicked the shocked Octave away from him and readied a pose for battle.

Octave, eyes wide in amazement, almost didn’t react fast enough when 95 shouted “TIME-SKIMMER” and appeared directly in front of him.

The two’s sabers clashed, 95 now suddenly faster and stronger and able to use one of Octave’s almost unique abilities. Octave tilted his blade, sending 95’s down to the floor from the sheer weight and strength he put behind it. Octave used the shift in 95’s weight to kick him across the face and send him reeling backwards, his back facing Octave. He turned sharply, his blade circling around to Octave’s face as he did. While, not close enough to actually damage Octave, the energy saber shattered Octave’s light green visor and sent the disoriented Robot Master reeling.

As Octave recovered, facing his front once again to meet 95’s blade with his, he lifted his saber into the air to strike 95’s head, but before he could, the incredibly fast 95 sent his blade into the space between Octave’s right shoulder and his chest, almost completely severing the limb.

“Uh…” Octave grunted as his blade retracted back into his arm, his unarmed hand slotting back out as it fell to his side. Overcome by pain, Octave shot down to his knees after 95 withdrew his blade from Octave’s arm. The images returned, even more painful and vivid this time than before. Octave could feel each and every body hitting him, feel the screams all around him stab him to the very core as he kneeled there into the street clutching his now limp arm.

“I remember it all now. You will too. Thanks for the sword, brother.” 95 said before shifting back to his default light-gray color and buster arm.

Octave’s mind was far too consumed with the terrors before him to even consider chasing 95 down. He just stood there, a face full of shock, terror, and pure horror. It was like he was staring directly into the depths of Hell.

Incoming communication from SaberMan. wrote:"Pasty, this is Octave, come in."

A few miles away, a dark brown robot master attempted to respond to the call, but he was too far, and too mired in electronic interference. Octave's rhapsodic, slightly elder brother stood atop an ancient electronics store, his visor down as he scanned the horizon for the nomads he'd seen earlier. He tapped his receiver, attempting to respond to the call.

"Pastoral to Octave. Hey, bro, I can hear you. What do you need?" As he spoke, his communications gave him painful feedback, forcing him to disable them. "Jeez. Must be all these crappy electronics." Pastoral leapt down from the two story building, bending his knees as he landed, his weight shaking the ground and cracking the old, sandy pavement.

As dusty wind blew tiny pebbles against Pastoral's armor, the robot noticed a sudden disturbance in the air. A hot wind blew against his synthetic, lifelike skin, followed by a dull thumping sound. Explosives in the distance. An explosive. Deciding not to leave anything to chance, the robot decided to investigate. Dipping low, Pastoral began a powerful sprint, moving tirelessly towards his objective. As he crested a hill, he jumped, his legs pushing him high into the air. Landing on a rooftop, Pastoral entered the abandoned city where he'd heard the thump. Now, the explosions were much more clear, along with cries for help. Pastoral looked down the road, and spied several humans fleeing from a white android. Malevolent, huh? A pejorative term for thinking robots who chose to harm humans, Pastoral could think of no other word for the attacker, who stridently and merrily pointed an arm cannon at the fleeing humans.

"THAT'S RIGHT. Run!" The robot shouted in a familiar voice, laughing as he shot at their feet. "Hah! Clumsy humans! You think you can escape me?!"

Pastoral prepared to attack, when he realized just who the android was. This wasn't just a random robot. It was the traitor. A robot master who once carried the name Grave. This was someone Pastoral was friends with in times long past. Now, after a series of brutal, cowardly betrayals, and a wound issued by Pastoral's own buster, this robot was only named Skull. His cheek and jaw lacked skin, displaying a skeletal, ceramic steel jaw. His skin was bleached white by a lack of care or maintenance. All Skull cared to repair now were his combat systems and his reactor.

After all, that was all he needed to murder humans.

Pastoral's right fist clenched. Despite being two blocks away and standing on a roof, he drew his right cannon and placed his left hand on it to steady it. He wasn't a perfect sniper, but he primed his precision arm anyway, and fired.

A golden bolt of energy flared straight towards Skull, narrowly missing him. The bleached white Malevolent jumped back, looking up to spot Pastoral, who fired again, issuing shot after shot. Skull smirked. "PASTORAL!!! It's so good to see you!!!"

The robot master said nothing in return, as he charged towards Skull with his visor down and his teeth clenched. Springing off of the roof, he ran along the side of a concrete building, his powerful legs shattering parts of it with each step. He wasn't as fast as his brother, but he did possess a speed and strength to be reckoned with. Skull, however, was unphased. They'd done this song and dance before. The robot master sprang off of the building, fist clenched. Skull dove out of the way, as Pastoral's landing left a crater, sending rocks and dust high into the air.

"Whoa. Little mad there, PluseMan?" Skull smirked, drawing his buster and firing the moment he had a clear shot. To the Malevolent's displeasure, Pastoral easily dodged, drawing his left cannon and returning fire. Silver, less precise bolts peppered the ground and buildings nearby, one striking Skull's arm, leaving a crack and a painful burn. "I see you have a new pea shooter Pasty."

Pastoral drew both cannons. "Keep talking big. We both know who's going to run away, Grave." Pastoral aimed, pooling energy into his busters. "After all, that's what you're good at, right?"

Skull smirked. The insult had no sting. "Oh, this time I'm leaving you a goodbye present. MARROW! ATTACK!"

Before Pastoral could get a clean shot, a massive shadow came upon him. Shit! Pastoral hadn't noticed Skull's company. A fist as large as a twin-sized bed struck Pastoral full and hard in the side, sending him rolling along the pavement. He got to his feet not far from the group of humans nearby, turning to them and raising his visor to look them in the eye. "I might not win, so get to safety! Call out if any other robots come after you!" The humans scrambled as the massive robot came barreling towards Pastoral, who stood his ground.

Marrow, a barrel chested, four meter tall, slouching behemoth, didn't seem to have any weapons. He settled for simply swinging his powerful, slow limbs to swat at and punch Pastoral. The agile, surefooted robot master avoided a tree-trunk sized arm, and returned the robot's aggression. He swung his fist, striking the Malevolent's jaw, breaking it. The sound of the trading blows deafened the humans nearby, who covered their ears, crowding into an old, run-down shop.

Pasty hopped off of a wall, firing a volley of kicks, denting the robot's chassis. With a final boot from his right leg, he drove it back against the wall. He drew both busters, firing quick shots in concert, platinum bolts of energy peppering the massive robot and putting small holes in it. The Malevolent, silent from the onset of the fight, simply glared hatefully as Pastoral lowered his visor and went in for the kill.

Leaping, chambering his leg, and throwing a massive side kick, the victorious robot master knocked a hole in the Malevolent's chest, exposing its reactor. The robot was put into stasis, its body too damaged to go on without overloading its systems.

"Octave, I've encountered and disabled a hostile robot. Skull was here." Pastoral grimaced, looking around. The wiley robot was predictably gone. "He got away. Friggin' coward. Anyway, I found some humans, so I'll tear out this guy's integrated circuit once I've made sure the people are alright, hey?"

However, before Pastoral could walk a safe distance away, Skull sprung his trap. Firing, he scored a quick, accurate hit with his cannon, shooting Marrow in the reactor. Marrow reactivated for a moment, grinning with his broken jaw as he stood, his unstable reactor going critical.

Pastoral turned towards the humans, his first thought to protect them. "GET AWAY!" The people obediently hit the deck, as Marrow exploded. The force of the blast shattered windows, and sent Pastoral flying into the building where the humans were hiding. The five terrified people looked up at Pastoral, who was laying down on the floor in the far corner of the room, his armor singed.

"HAH!!! Eat that, Pastoral! Stupid faggot." Skull smirked, turning to leave.

As he walked away, a golden bolt of energy struck the back of his head, destroying his helmet and stunning him. Skull whirled around to see Pastoral standing, his autorepair stitching his synthetic skin back together. He aimed both cannons, his brown eyes aflame with fury.

Before Skull could dodge, Pastoral's arm cannons were fully charged. Both barrels fired a bright beam of energy. The combined blast struck Skull's left arm, sheering it clean off. If Pastoral's optics had been fully operational, it would have been a lethal blow.

"Looks like I disarmed you, Skull." Pastoral smirked. "How rude of me! Stay still so I can hit you in the HEAD this time!!!"

Without a word, Skull dove off of the roof, and retreated as fast as his legs could carry him. Fortunately, Pastoral couldn't see well enough to fire again. His visor was shattered and his armor was burnt and overheated by the sneak attack. Fortunately, the humans were fine.

"Pastoral to Octave. P-Pastoral to Octave. Skull sprang a sneak attack on me. Humans are fine, but I've taken some damage. G-gotta go home for r-r-repairs. My optics have a lot of b-b-blind spots, and I think my stabilizers are busted." Pastoral stammered as his central processing unit repaired itself, releasing cooling solutions into his systems to attempt to beat down some of the heat. "Dr. Monday's gonna be pretty angry at me. Just know before you get here, it's not as b-bad as it looks. At least my face is still pretty."

Words can't express how happy I am to see this so I won't even bother.

I really like the fact that it seems gritter now. You have the robot masters' skin peeling off, which is pretty hardcore. Props to Vale for describing the setting, really made me think of tje DC ruins in Fallout 3. It fit really well with the "post-apocalyptic" world that seems to exist outside New Harmony.

All in all, I think if you guys keep it up... This story will be ten times better than the first time around!

“MOVEMENT! Movement in the distance! What’s the signature private?!” The man shouted loudly, a low base encompassing his voice as he yelled. He was an average sized man, dark hair and pale blue eyes. His face was worn with lines and wrinkles punished from an experience and unearned by age. At 60, he was still a young man, but he had earned his role as Major and head commander of the Northern section of The Wall.

“Soul detected. Too far to be identified.” The young man replied to his commanding officer without skipping a beat, processing his order when he first started yelling.

The Wall was the main defense from small dangers to keep New Harmony’s haven demeanor. A circle running around the city without a gap much larger than an entrance, the 170-meter tall metallic wall was strong and thick enough to withstand every force that New Harmony itself has at its disposal. Even with that, 20-meters outside the wall began the dome that encompassed New Harmony entirely for additional protection. While a few of the city’s own Combat Masters could eventually punch, blast, or cut through the wall, none of them could touch the dome without being almost entirely shut down. Because of that, the robot approaching the city was little concern to the Major, but he still had to be wary.

”This is Octave FSN-096, Combat Name SaberMan approaching home, come in, over.” The communications machines lit up and made sounds as Octave contacted the Wall. The Major smiled a familiar smirk and picked up the microphone.

“Welcome home moody, we’ve been hoping you’d show up. Your brother came in for repairs earlier, said something about not being able to reach you in the Abel City Ruins. We were just about to send Solo after you, over.” The Major chuckled as he commented, familiar enough with this Combat Master to know he’d hate that.

The Major, named Beckett, was actually very well acquainted with Octave due to his comings and goings. Though he was unsure of his motives, Octave spent most of his time scouting out beyond the walls of the city, and sometimes he brought home nomads who wanted to make New Harmony their home. While some humans feel very uneasy around Robot Masters, especially Combat Masters, Major Beckett came to knew a lot of them and actually befriend them, seeing as they go out and risk their existence on his own safety atop his big metal wall.

“Doing the same. My core’s running hot and I’ve sustained damage to my chassis on in the limb area. Besides that, I need a paint job. Open up teleport communications once I get inside please, over.” Octave said lowly, almost as if he was mumbling, but he definitely sounded like he was in pain.

Once Octave had passed through the opened dome shield and the scan for harmful machinery, he entered the large, dark gray gates and passed through the interior of the wall, a thick, layered cake of metal, walkways, and men. Soon, Octave came to the other side which opened up to the interior of New Harmony. He stepped across the sturdy metal bridge that kept him above the grasping darkness of the trench, a trintary defense directly behind the wall that went down for miles and stretches two miles into the inside of the Wall. Instead of crossing the bridge fully and seeking transport, Octave activated his city-wide teleportation system, the people manning the Wall seeing only a glowing blue line shooting upright and towards the center of the city at lightning speed.

Octave appeared into the dark lab room he considered a home away from home. Sort of like a birth town, Octave received his body in this very room, as did almost every other Robot Master when they were born. The senses gifted to their bodies were honed and readied in this small, dank lab. The bearded face of an older man in his late 160’s and the tray of scrap electronics and metal laying about. It eventually was broken by Octave’s own inability to walk when he took his first steps, but he remembered it regardless.

“Manhattan…” Octave clutched his arm and looked down in shame as the middle-aged, caucasian, man with graying brown hair slid from the darkness smoothly on his office chair.

“Lay down, Octave.” Doctor Manhattan examined the damaged robot, a body he had not built himself, but was very familiar with. Despite the late Doctor Monday’s almost endless Combat Master bodies he’d built, the notes Doctor Manhattan inherited often stated that Octave and Pastoral’s bodies were his masterpiece. Manhattan himself has never been able to cook up another Time-Skimmer, so he liked to treat Octave with great care and consideration. “Right there, on the operating table, you’re after your brother.” Manhattan finished calmly as he reached up for the light switch, revealing the battle-damaged Pastoral in the final stages of repair.

“Thought I heard you come in, Blueberry. What the matta you?” Pastoral jubilant as every, sat upright as the doctor began buffing his knee. “You look very… Stabbed.”


“I feel very stabbed.” To Pastoral, Octave was easy to read. His slight changes in his tone and word-choice were as obvious about his emotions as a red face and the shakes, despite those being human qualities. While other people interpret Octave’s behaviour as cold and unopening, Pastoral saw only his scared younger brother. Pastoral watched as Octave laid down on his back and relaxed himself. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Have you started combat testing your new ability Octave?” The doctor said off-handedly as he continued to work on Pastoral. Manhattan let out a sigh and broke from his work and turned to Octave when the beaten up robot shook his head and grunted negatively in response.

“I think you’ll spend less time in here if you actually use it.” Doctor Manhattan came in uncomfortably close to Octave as he spoke, “You could use the range.”

“I don’t like range. I’m a bad shot on a good day, so why would I use it?” Octave spat back at the doctor without hesitation, a bad habit he refused to break, despite the negative effects it could have on him in the future.

“S-Level Combat Masters are hyper-destructive weapons of war because they don’t use a shotgun in a sniper fight, Octave! They perfect their strengths and cover their weaknesses intelligently, and THAT is why you are still A-Level! You can’t cut through every problem, and one day, you’ll realize that you’re not fast enough to outrun a bullet!” Doctor Manhattan shouted, slamming the table as he did, which caused both Octave and Pastoral to jump. “I designed that attack to allow you to follow your own trope. So use it.” Manhattan slid away as he finished, never having left his rolling chair.

Silently, for the next few minutes, Doctor Manhattan continued fixing up Pastoral and continued to Octave. The tension still in the air, no one spoke while the repairs proceeded, so Pastoral silently sat and waited, standing up as his brother stormed out of the building when completely repaired, refurbished, and repolished. “Thanks Doc. You know he didn’t mean to-”

“I understand. Try not to seperate next time.” Manhattan said in quiet frustration with the robot. He typed on his computer, logging in the repairs made and materials used to keep stock in check and to keep accounting happy.

“No problem.” Pastoral said, saluting casually before exiting to chase after his brother.

Outside the the Robot Master Maintenance Facility, Octave waited quietly for Pastoral. The lush green field of grass surrounding the flowers and bushes of bright colors next to fountains and quaint artwork seemed fake to him. As if this was some sort of glossy lie humanity told itself to forget the Wastes. The cracked concrete, the dried dirt and sand, the collapsed and rubbled buildings all seemed real to Octave; they made more sense than anything in New Harmony and its massive metal skyline and thriving communities. But New Harmony was real, even if it was the sort of thing you’d describe as a trap to lure desperate people to their demise. Octave fought to protect the things he cared about, and the economy and quality of life of New Harmony were not on that list. Very few things were. Deep in thought, Octave jumped slightly as Pastoral, a member of Octave’s list, approached.

“Hey, bro.” Pastoral greeted happily, smiling from ear to ear as he spoke. Suddenly, his voice lowered, and he obviously became more serious. “You should probably take Manhattan’s advice. It looked like a pretty sick move when I saw you use it in the SIM.”

“Whatever. Hey, I promised Lady Opera I’d oversee the training of the new Combat Master girl. Wanna come play good cop?” Octave deflected expertly, standing up from his bench while speaking, not once meeting his brother in the eye until he finished his sentence.

“Sweet, they made her a Combat Master! Sure, I’m happy to help. What’s her designation?”

“ApacheWoman. They gave her feathers and everything because she wanted to use a tomahawk.” Octave huffed, thinking of several ways to counter and kill someone who used a tomahawk in only a few seconds.

“Fancy. I’ll meet you there!” Pastoral smacked Octave’s shoulder just before teleporting to the SIM, white teeth shining from his grin as he did so. Octave chuckled and shook his head before teleporting after his older, more social and optimistic brother.

Metal dented and broke as a pair of robot masters trained, beating holes in large, thick sheets of metal A "young" robot master by New Harmony's standards, Sonata [Combat Name: ApacheWoman] balled her fist, and shouted out as she issued a powerful blow. She smiled at first, presuming her fist had pierced the sheet of reflective nionium, but she was crestfallen when she realized she'd only made another deep, fist shaped impression.

Behind her, a more experienced robot paced, arms folded, piercing eyes observing the target. "Better. Again." With a wave of her hand, a pair of automated arms carried the sheet of metal away, replacing it with another. Vesper [Combat Name: ChargeWoman], the master overseeing Sonata's training, resisted the urge to smile. Sonata seemed to be making progress.

Both Sonata and Vesper were interrupted when the brothers arrived. 


Zot. Zewm. 

In a pair of quiet, humming beams of light, Octave and Pastoral arrived. Octave had his arms folded, a stature that seemed to mirror Vesper's. Pastoral, more easy going, interlocked his fingers behind his helmet, leaning back against a nearby wall.

Octave, looking around, clicked his teeth, his cold blue eyes examining the room with a wave of nostalgia. "Aaaaah. You're doin' the strength training, huh? This was a pain in the ass." He turned towards Sonata, who was ecstatic to see Octave.

"OCTY! How are you?!" Sonata waved, standing on the balls of her toes. Octave turned sharply away, refusing to acknowledge the stupid nickname. When Pastoral snickered, Octave shot him a glare that could shatter a glass bottle.

Vesper smiled, giving them both a nod. "Sonata. Take a break for a moment. I believe you've met Octave, but not his brother, Pastoral." The experienced veteran pointed her open hand towards Pastoral, as Sonata looked him over for a second.

There were certainly similarities between Octave and Pastoral. Their body types were alike, sporting brown skin, similar size (Octave being a few inches taller than Pastoral), and both wearing sleeveless, open shirts over their uniforms. However, their differences were many. Pastoral had brown eyes as opposed to Octave's blue. Their armor was different as well. Pastoral's armor was brown and black, whereas Octave's was brighter shades of cobalt and blue. Sonata took a moment to cut her teeth on the concept of them being so similar, yet so different.

Octave seemed to be the mean one. Pastoral was all smiles, waving at Sonata.

"Nice to meet you, Pastoral! I'm Sonata." The powder blue robot stepped forward, bowing to Pastoral, who rubbed the back of his neck.

"No need to bow. I'm not your boss, Sonata. It's a pleasure to meet you, though." Pastoral lifted his hand, and planted it onto Sonata's helmet, giving the young master a pat on the head.

"Alright. Enough chit chat." Vesper turned and pointed to the undamaged sheet of metal before Sonata. "Continue the stress test. You've got the hydraulic strength to punch through TWO of those sheets with ease. You just gotta get control of your body." Vesper nodded to Octave. "Octave. Take over here for me. Once she's managed to pass her basic stress testing and smash a hole in that sheet, bring her to the combat simulator and have her run something...basic." Vesper looped her finger under Pastoral's helmet, giving him a stiff yank. Pastoral went with the flow, as per usual, following along. "I'm borrowing Pastoral for some more advanced combat simulations. I need another A-Rank robot to back me up."

Sonata waved goodbye to Vesper and Pastoral, as they stepped out of the room. However, Octave caught his brother's arm, tightening his grip.

"...Pastoral, I kinda need to talk to you about somethin' I saw out on patrol. Has something to do with me getting stabbed." Octave's voice lowered a rung. To anyone else, the detail would have gone unnoticed. However, Pastoral picked up on the intonation instantly. Surely it was something grave.

"Alright, man. Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait a few hours. Just hurry up and get Sonata through her stress tests, meet me and Vesper in the Sim Area, and we'll chat after." Pastoral, awkwardly tugged between Vesper grasping his helmet and Octave holding his arm, began to worry that soon his limb or his head would pop off. "...I can't be in two places at once, guys. One of you is gonna have to let go."

Octave and Vesper shot a glance at each-other, and Pastoral realized the accidental tug-of-war had become competitive. The two of them planted their feet, and before Pastoral could defend himself or lodge a formal complaint, they began pulling as hard as they could. "Hey. Guys, c'mon now OW OW OW OW OW OW OW!!" Pastoral was soon yanked in Vesper's direction. "I just got repaired. There's no need for freakin' barbarism." Sonata giggled as Pastoral, expressive as ever, sulked off, before he and Vesper teleported away.

Annoyed that he'd lost the brief contest of strength, Octave turned towards Sonata. "ALRIGHT. Let's get down to business." With a few strident steps, he marched towards the sheet of niobium, and threw an incredibly hard punch. Without even looking at the sheet or spacing his feet apart, his knuckles pierced the metal pane, folding it in half for good measure. "Don't stop punching until you can do THAT. No excuses. I'm gonna go find a magazine. Hop to it, girlie girl."

Sonata's training would be a long haul. It took weeks for a Master to fully appreciate and learn to exert their own strength. It took years to reach their full potential. Robot Masters are not just androids with a set upper limit to their potential; they are constantly evolving and learning souls.

And the soul of a Combat Master was trained to pilot a god.

Here's an extra snippet for you.

As Octave watched Sonata train, a third Robot Master entered the room on foot. Cavatino [Combat Name: FerroMan]. Octave lowered his magazine, shutting it as he looked up at the tall robot.

The blood red and black android marched across the room without greeting, his hands behind his back. Sonata smiled and waved, and Cavatino grunted in response.

"What's up, 'Tino?" Octave asked in a friendly tone. "What's a great and powerful S-Rank doing here?"

Cavatino turned towards them. "I'm here to let off some steam." The robot seemed angry, his teeth grinding slightly as his mouth shut. "Queue up a sheet of metal for me, would you?"

The robotic arms drew forth a sheet of metal nearly two meters thick. Sonata marvelled. Octave, impressed, leaned forward in his seat to watch. The niobium in that sheet was dense enough that Octave would take a few moments to cut through it with his saber.

Cavatino planted his feet, and clenched his fist. "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!" With a war-cry of fury and power, his arm came around, and when his fist connected. The sheet of metal warped and bowed, a hole as thick as a tankard knocked in the cube. The displaced metal simply disappeared.

This was his power. The total destruction of any metal that he touched. The invincible Ferro-Hand that pierced any enemy. Between his high aptitude in combat, his fearless, stoic nature, and his terrifyingly strong ability to devastate metal, FerroMan was an S-Rank for good reason.

"...You seem like you have a LOT of steam to let off." Sonata, jaw agape, walked around to Cavatino's side. "What's got you so mad?"

Cavatino's eyes darkened, his teeth clenching. "You wouldn't understand, kid."

"Please tell me? Please?"

"I said stop asking, brat-bot." Cavatino folded his arms across his chest, his brow furrowing and his mouth-guard snapping shut. "I won't warn you again."

"PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?"


Cavatino sighed, putting his face in his palm. Octave, on the edge of his seat, listened carefully.

"...FrogWoman drew nipples on my chest armor while I was recharging." Cavatino unfolded his arms, his teeth still clenched. "Permanent Marker. It took me four hours to wash it off."

Octave clutched his face, but his mouth and nose seemed to explode with laughter. "PFTBAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!"

Sonata, genuinely sympathetic, leaned forward. "Need a hug?"

"...Sure." Cavatino accepted the hug, stoic all the while.

The combat program loaded the instant Pastoral and Vesper were plugged into it. The reality of a simple laboratory disappeared, replaced with an orange sky. Burning buildings produced a hazy, heavy atmosphere, as the two Robot Masters stood in the Burning District program; a cityscape disconcertingly similar to downtown Dawn Metropolis, infested with powerful enemy robots.

The powerful pair were quickly confronted by a squadron of combat drones. The one eyed, armored robots turned their weapons towards Pastoral and Vesper. "Pastoral, move! I'll scatter them!" 

Vesper barked the order, both of them immediately moving away from each-other as blaster shots whizzed by them. PulseMan stepped carefully as his visor snapped down, shielding his eyes and sharpening his vision. He tilted and dodged, as busterfire streaked past him. He kept his eyes on their guns, waiting for muzzle-flashes and moving his body accordingly to dodge. Darting to and fro, he outmaneuvered their shots. 

Robot Masters could fairly easily predict the shots of drone-robots. It was second nature, like a martial-artist evading a punch from a child. By the same token, the drones had the computing power to see an attack coming. Pastoral planted his feet and prepared his right cannon. The robots lifted their thick riot shields as the robot master fired his buster. His shots staggered some of the enemies, but did no real damage.

That was where Vesper came in. While they had focused on the firefight with Pastoral, they had allowed Vesper to attack unimpeded. The robot master tossed a primed charge into their ranks. The detonation blasted several of them into scrap, knocking the others over. This was Pastoral's chance to return fire. He fired both of his cannons from the hip, tearing the remaining drones apart with a hail of powerful shots.

ChargeWoman grinned, giving Pastoral a thumbs up, which he quickly returned. She folded her arms. "So, that's ten kills for me, and ten assists for you."

"Assists? I did all the work." Pastoral snapped back, raising his visor.

"That's what makes it an 'assist,'" Vesper curtly responded. Realizing she'd forgotten to deploy her helmet, she quickly did so, her maroon helmet snapped into place, her long, dark hair tying itself back. "INCOMING." Vesper pointed the danger out to Pastoral, who moved back, as an immense weight landed just inches behind where he'd previously been.

The two confronted a powerful pair of enemies. One possessed robust blue armor, and powerful, gloved arms. He grinned, announcing his name. "I am HardMan. I'm gonna beat you into a metal cube for what you did to my drones!"

The second, a green armored robot, hovered over HardMan's shoulder. His back had a powerful propeller, as did his wrists, keeping him afloat. "GyroMan. Get ready to be blown away!!!"

Vesper and Pastoral nodded, as Vesper gave the order. "You take the flier, since you've got a cannon. I'll wear down the atomic ton-of-fun here."

"HEY!" HardMan growled, and, with startling speed, charged forward. Vesper darted out of the way, and he attacked Pastoral, who failed to move in time. The powerful robot threw a punch, which Pastoral ducked, his visor re-appearing as the robot bore down on him. HardMan wasn't like the rusty robot he'd faced earlier. He was high-quality, and he outweighed Pastoral by a fair amount. However, Pastoral had speed on his side. He dodged a volley of slow, powerful punches, using his hands to redirect each blow. He leapt backwards, trying to gain some distance.

HardMan didn't intend to allow Pastoral to escape. Bringing back his arm, he thrust it forward. KATHOOOOOM. Accompanied by a regalia of rocket-fuel, HardMan's arm shot off, sailing towards Pastoral with the force of a monster truck. Pastoral lifted his arms, blocking the rocket powered punch with his wrists, throwing it away.

Before the fist could loop back around, Vesper hopped upwards, and swung her boot. Her leg glowed yellow for a moment during the impact. The kick, enhanced by a powerful razor edge, tore HardMan's arm clean in half. "OWCH!!!" Receiving a remote notification of the pain, HardMan recoiled, as Pastoral went after GyroMan.

"I've heard a lot about you, PulseMan!!!" GyroMan shouted down at the brown robot master, as he flew down to attack.

"...Huh. Okay. Simulations sure do talk more than usual." Pastoral ducked a powerful gust of weaponized wind. He returned fire with his buster, but GyroMan evaded the powerful bolts from his right arm. The landlocked robot master sprinted along, staying mobile to throw off his enemy's aim. He switched to his left cannon, peppering GyroMan with rapid shots, but the aerial robot master avoided them with casual ease. Huffing with frustration, Pastoral jumped as the cement was cratered by another tornado of air.

Vesper was having an easier time with HardMan's defenses. She swung her boot down on HardMan's shoulder, slashing it with her razor-edged kick, the concussive force alone enough to dent his armor. As HardMan threw a punch to try to knock her off, she bounced off his arm and threw out a sticky charge. The bomb stuck to his armpit, and burst. The blast destroyed half of his face, and jettisoned his arm entirely. "GAH! ChargeWoman!!! I'll kill you!" HardMan bounded towards her, intent on landing on and crushing her alive. Vesper moved aside, avoiding the strike.

Pastoral soon gained the upper hand as he ran into a building. Like a wrestler springing off the ropes, he sprinted up the side of it, his powerful legs tearing off bricks with each step. Pastoral jumped as GyroMan hurled another gust of wind into the wall, avoiding the blast and closing in. Swinging his leg, he struck GyroMan in the head, sending him sailing downwards. GyroMan crashed into HardMan, dazing them both. As the two slowly recovered from the damage dealt by their adversaries, Pastoral and Vesper sprinted towards each-other.

"Vesper! Let's finish 'em! Combine!"

"Let's." Vesper smiled at the opportunity, as she reached out and grasped Pastoral's hand.

In a blinding flash of light, Pastoral disappeared, a brown haze flowing over Vesper's armor. She flexed her arm, her strength suddenly increased by five times. Her appearance was suddenly altered as well, as Pastoral performed his ultimate ability.

While Octave had his Time Skimmer, and Vesper had her enhanced legs, Pastoral's power was meant to be shared. A Support Unit, Pastoral's ultimate purpose was to combine; a process that made Pastoral and his teammate, as a whole, much more powerful than they were separately.

As the combination completed itself, Vesper, while still the same size, had another coat of armor. Maroon and brown, she folded her arms, waiting for Pastoral to give the "all clear" to attack.

Fusion Complete. We're stable! Take 'em out! Pastoral's voice, now inside Vesper's head, cheered her on. Rip 'em a new one, Vesper!

"Aye aye." Feeling the innate confidence that came with such a huge jump in physical might, Vesper smirked, as Pastoral's visor lowered. Her boot glowed with intense silver light. When she tapped it against the ground, the cement crumbled beneath her boot like sand under her toe. When she moved, the pavement burst beneath her feet.

In a flash of speed, she threw a single kick. Her boot tore through HardMan, splitting him clean in half at the waist. GyroMan dove aside, avoiding the blow, as Vesper turned on him as well. She formed a charge in her hand, and tossed it. The bomb stuck to GyroMan's back, as the enemy robot panicked and attempted to pry it off.

Turn around and don't watch the explosion. It'll look cooler. Vesper heeded Pastoral's command, turning away as she detonated the charge.

KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM. The bomb on GyroMan burst, blasting him into thousands of tiny floating pieces.

Vesper's armor glowed, as Pastoral separated from her. Laconic and proud, the two robots bumped fists, smirking.

"Very well done. Exemplary."

A booming, powerful voice congratulated the pair. Neither of them noticed their Leader's arrival, having been wrapped up in the moment.

General greeted them from afar, standing proudly, with the head of an enemy drone in his hand. He dropped it, stepping on and crushing it like a lightbulb under his boot. Vesper and Pastoral stood at attention, as General approached.

Hot damn. Haven't written combat in a while, so sorry if this is a hot mess. Vale's takin' the baton from here, so stay tuned!!!

Octave and Sonata entered the room in a bright blue glow, walking as they apparated. Octave’s pace was stiff and fast while Sonata crept behind him, unfamiliar with this particular room.

The simulation floor was a large, flat room with a small observation station from which you can edit simulations to even include other recorded Robot Masters; ancient, new, dead, living, whatever. It was many of the Combat Master’s favorite place to be due to the limitless scenarios to fight in, so many that a Combat Master may never repeat a situation or terrain twice.

“What is it, General?” Octave said in a manner that would be considered disrespectful to some, but flattering to the large, imposing Robot Master as he marched next to Pastoral.

“Octave. It is good to see you. ChargeWoman said you’ve been doing well in your field activities.” General greeted in an eerie, kind, and commanding tone, his hands folded and meeting behind him as he stood straight up. General was one of the oldest, most powerful Souls ever extracted. More specifically, he was the third Soul extracted, and the second Combat Master ever created.

Lady Opera, the second Soul extracted, was gifted with wisdom bordering on foresight and easily became the spiritual leader of every Soul, Robot and Combat Master alike.

General, however, was the military leader, the voice of all Combat Masters and the lead strategist in the deployment of his army. Since the last build up of Malevolent and the violent strikes to scatter and eradicate them just twenty short years ago, however, he’d mostly been sending the Combat Masters out to recover stray Humans to bring them into the population of New Harmony.

“I have. Why’d you have Vesper call me here?” Octave crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one leg, head cocked to the side in defiance as Pastoral, more respectful of the beyond S-Ranked Combat Master before him, stood practically at attention like everyone else in the room.

“Well, as you know, MarksMan and ShadeWoman were sent on a Patrol Mission immediately following your return and lack of a report to investigate the rumored battles that occurred with you two in the midsts of Abel City. Along with a band of roving humans seeking a new home, the two were able to capture a Malevolent who claims to know you, Octave. And, knowing how close the two of you have been since birth, I assumed he knows of you too, Pastoral.” General paced back and forth in front of the brothers as he spoke, maintaining his menacing, commanding tone all the while.

Suddenly, there was a bright red flash and loud buzzing noise, and Solo (MarksMan) was before the audience, accompanied by his prize. Solo, a close friend and frequent combat partner to both Octave and Pastoral, was a trusted face. His hair, which was currently encompassed by his red and black helmet, was a dirty blonde. With a caucasian build and tone of synthetic skin preference upon the working of his permanent design, the blue eyes were a no-brainer. Out of them all, Solo was the Combat Master most resembling a human; both physically and mentally.

Solo’s captured Malevolent was, unfortunately for Octave, also familiar. The light gray “95” he had been bested by previously stood there, weapons system dismantled, frame heavily damaged, auxiliary systems fried. His body was almost completely unrecognizable, but his eyes were all the same.

At the exact same time, with a similar sounding level of pain, the brothers Pastoral and Octave both let out long and piercing shouts of outright pain. They clutched their heads as they writhed and fell to their hands and knees. Vesper, Solo, and Sonata ran to their aid, knowing fairly well that there was little they could do for them when they got to them but yell and try to get them to Doctor Manhattan. General, however, stood there, static in his position in stature and placement, and smirked.

"AAAAHHHHH!" Octave screamed at the top of his artificial lungs, flailing and squeezing his eyes shut as he soured around in the air. "WHY DOES IT HURT SO MUCH?!" Octave began crying tears he did not know he could cry.

Another entity slammed into Octave at an unstoppable speed as it screamed just as loudly as Octave. The frightened Master forces his eyes open, revisiting the vision he had seen last time he encountered 95.

A whirlwind of ghostly bodies flew around into a giant funnel that opened up at the bottom to feed back into the outer circle. The screams, male and female sounding alike, screamed all the same. Despite New Harmony's vision and everlasting sense of justice, there was the unavoidable inequality among both humans and Souls. Here, however, everyone was equally pathetic and powerless. No classes were to be found, because they were all slaves to the force keeping them there. The force of The Domain Octave once escaped had consumed him once again.

"No... No no no! NO! HELP! SOMEONE HELP! HELP! NO!" Octave thrashed and pleaded to a rescuer who was not there and he knew it. This kind of power doesn't let a prisoner escape twice.

Octave desperately clutched at incoming bodies, who either attacked in return

Octave screamed and cried loudly, shouting incoherently as if he were speaking among a crowd. Suddenly, however, he entered combat mode; his visor slotting above his eyes, his mouth cover consuming his entire lower face, and his glowing, humming blue blade activating. He dashed madly at 95, who stood there, glaring, as if he were ready to die.

General, however, seemed to have other plans for 95, that, or he simply enjoyed the simplicity of overpowering Octave. General swung his own, skinnier, green blade upwards below Octave's blade, which was primed for a charged stabbing. Octave, at a speed General had come to learn but respect, spun around and swung his sword at General's midsection to no avail, for General was the Combat Master's leader for a reason. In a swift motion, General met Octave's blade and kicked over the clashed swords, hitting Octave directly on the side of the head and sending him flying into a wall.

The enraged Octave stood up, screaming and swinging wildly at nothing before acquiring the nearest entity as a target. Which was, unfortunately, Sonata.

Octave dashed toward the defenseless Combat Master, swinging, shouting, and crying wildly. In response, General dashed twice as quickly, body-checking Octave right into the nearby metal wall harder than intended, sending the berserking Octave out into the human-populated street, directly into the side of a car. The people on the street shouted, screaming and running away as Octave recovered.

Vesper and Solo ran to the frightened Sonata and General, who stood there clenching his fist. “What the hell did you do!?” Vesper shouted out of worry and anger. It was uncommon for her to show such disrespect to General, that was Octave’s job. “Did you know that would happen?” Solo added, with less anger and more confusion and worry.

“I was more interested in the interaction between Octave and this Malevolent, ChargeWoman.” General stated calmly, his mouth-cover sliding itself over the lower half of his face. “This incident’s fault lies with me. I will go recover Octave. You two make sure Pastoral and the Malevolent are secure… And get ApacheWoman out of here.” General paused as he looked over to Sonata, who laid in the fetal position pathetically grabbing Solo’s arm.

“... Yes sir…” Vesper saluted stiffly, obviously angered at General’s lack of concern for their safety in plotting this interrogation.

”H-help…” Pastoral gasped, an immense weight crushing down on his chest, disallowing his to speak. He attempted to move, but the weight spread out across his entire body, the blackness swallowing him as he attempted to struggle.

There was a movement right on top of Pastoral, but at the same time it was below him. The exact same pathetic attempt to struggle echoed on all sides of him, as the gasps of millions of other trapped Souls cried for help, just as Pastoral did. “W-where am… I…?”

Slowly over the course of a few minutes, as if someone were digging him up brick by brick, the weight became less and less on top of Pastoral until eventually a body place firmly on top of him scrambled upright, clawing its way up. Following suit, Octave grabbed hold of the escaping body and climbing it as it rose. Humanoid in shape, but completely figure and featureless, the entity Pastoral crawled on was practically a silhouette. And just as he seemed to get a good grip and had eyes on another body to crawl on, Pastoral received a vengeful elbow to the jaw, the force sending him back down into the mass grave of living bodies, the movement and upward trend swallowing Pastoral back down into the pool of the pit.

“No… No! NO!” Pastoral shouted upon deaf, uncaring ears as he was completely consumed by the living murk of this pit he had now realized was home, private Hell, and birthplace: The Domain.

Pastoral, seemingly under the same spell as Octave, simply laid on his back, writhing and shouting to himself as if he couldn’t speak. He reached his hand out into the sky, begging for someone to grasp it and pull him out of whatever torment he was enduring.

The two red Combat Masters, Vesper being the darker of the two, marched back to the smirking Malevolent, who sat completely still despite the decent margin of time others would have used as a pathetic attempt to escape.

“WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Vesper landed a half-charged a kick on the side of 95’s head, not initiating her Combat Mode for decreased damage. She wanted him to feel as much pain possible without killing him. Vesper wanted him to talk.

“I thought they’d already seen this, just like me. They’ll be fine, it’s just not very fu-” 95 started before Vesper charged a kick into a stomp directly on the side of 95’s head into the floor, denting his helmet slightly and cracking his poorly constructed eye, the fluid to give it it’s gray color leaking through a crack the first kick created.

“What did you see?” Vesper’s voice lowered, but the intensity remained the same. Somehow, that was way worse than a shout.

“Do you remember the Domain?” 95 asked, the very question sending a shiver up everyone’s spine to the point that Vesper backed off of 95, her eyes widening.

No one knew what The Domain was or how it worked. Attempts to drill it’s surface only prove as folly, the metal a relic from a past world of greater technological feats. The only reason the Forge proved effective was due to a small imperfection in the metal sphere’s shell: an electric output port and a data output port. The innermost workings were completely unknown, and attempts to gain information on it from extracted Souls proved only to force them to relive the trauma and break down into a psychotic episode. Despite that, thanks to the efforts of Lady Opera, many Robot Masters have come to terms with their past life in the Domain and can remember it vaguely, and for every Soul, life inside was a different form of awful, but everyone has something to do with overcrowding due to the sheer amount of Souls inside the Domain.

“For me, I remember burning. A hot flame at the bottom of a pit with slanted sides, so the more that the other Souls fled, the further they’d fall and the more Souls they’d drag back down with them into the pit. Before I fought Octave, that’s all I cared to remember. But after our fight, I remembered the whole thing. I thought I was there for much longer than I was. Every ten seconds felt like a year inside my own head, and I hallucinated for ten minutes.” 95’s voice lowered when he spoke, the pain of the flame still hot on his back, compelling him to rub and ease it.

“Solo. Take Sonata to Lady Opera. She doesn’t need to be here.” Vesper ordered, swallowing her own fear of her experiences in the Domain.

“Sir, make sure you watch Pastoral. I like him too, but if he attacks you should disable him ASAP.” Solo said, avoiding the sight of the writing and crying Pastoral just next to him before turning and executing his orders after Vesper nodded, affirming Solo’s advice.

---

Octave clutched the bottom of the car, turning at the waist sharply and throwing it into the corner of a large building, warping the vehicle into a ninety degree angle as the passenger, who jumped out before Octave arrived at her car, screamed and ran.

Octave stood in the midsts of the once heavily populated downtown area, skyscrapers running high into the sky shaded the entire area while people ran in either direction away from the rampaging Combat Master they’d come to know and love.

Before he could find and throw something else, Octave turned to meet the large palm of General’s hand cupping his face and sending his entire head into the pavement.

Octave reacted instantly, his enraged and berserking state not overcoming the skills drilled into his Combat Matrix. Octave turned sharply, both sliding General's Palm off of his head and turning himself facing upwards. He threw his saber up, the dodging General receiving only a shallow cut on the breast of his armor, but it was much more than most of General's opponents could achieve. Octave jump upright and dashed forwards, swinging uncontrollably as General ducked and dodged the volley. Ending with a heavy and slow horizontal slash to General's knees, Octave received a jumping kick to the head as the veteran's offensive dodge to the attack.

The berserking blue robot skipped on the street like a well-thrown rock on the surface of water for three city blocks. As he did, General let out a sigh of relief. Normally when these two fought, General had an unbreaking advantage of tactics: he taught Octave the basics of everything he knows. Octave's entire style of fighting was simply an edited version of General's, Octave using his speed, thin stature, and agility to disorient and dodge enemy attacks and get in close for an aggressive barrage of swordplay. General could no longer rely on that past advantage; Octave was nothing more than an over-equiped Malevolent Screamer at this point.

The time for plotting a way for this to end without Octave's death was over. General had decided that holding back was now out of the question. In one of the cars Octave had thrown, a family of three; a mother, father, and small girl child laid dead in the car from Octave's wake of destruction. This discovery affirmed General's decision. As of right now, Octave was a Malevolent.

Suddenly, Octave used his Time-Skimmer ability to teleport next to General, giving the dangerous General only a second to block the attack and kick Octave back onto the other side of the street.

"GENERAL!" A voice shouted from behind the combat focused General. He turned to see FerroMan rushing to Octave, the combat ready version of Cavatino's hand glowing with destructive, pulsating energy. In one swift movement, the surprisingly agile S-Ranked Combat Master ducked a swing from Octave at his head and aggressively palmed his saber and shouted "REND!" as he blew up Octave's entire arm.

Screaming in pain all the while, Octave brought his left arm up for a punch. FerroMan caught the fist and blew up Octave's entire right arm. Now crippled by both the mental and physical pain, Octave began screaming and crying, falling and writhing on the floor as he did before he attacked.

"You are too kind to the Malevolent, FerroMan." General smiled as he shook his head slowly, ever proud of the abilities of his S-Ranked Combat Masters.

"With all due respect, sir, he's still a Combat Master, and if there's a chance to revert him back to his pessimistic, caustic self, then I'd prefer to try. What about these humans, sir? What should be do?" Cavatino, having now retracted his mouth cover and powered down his frightening powers look around at the humans who remained nearby, scared and angry at the ones they thought would be protecting the city as opposed to destroying it.

"They are civilians. Our affairs are none of their concern, and should they forget that let me remind them. See Octave to Manhattan and detain him there, take off his legs if he struggles too much. Inform the doctor not to repair him until I give the order." General ended, his arms once again sliding behind his back and meeting as he stood upright as he walked away.

"Should I even try to ask what happened, General?" Cavatino asked as General left the battered street and totaled cars, silent to his query. "... Yes sir."

Pastoral was now further up than he's ever been, finding the wall all the other bodies used to climb upwards. He looked all around him, his vision still practically pitch black from the bodies pressing against him. In all honesty, Pastoral wasn't entirely sure that the wall he clutched onto wasn't another pile of struggling bodies.

A hand grabbed Pastoral by the arm, and unlike every other instance of this, it grabbed him by the side of the head and held him close instead of climbing and shoving. The entity hushing Pastoral's continual cries as it climbed slowly with its free arm.

After a while of this, Pastoral began to think of himself as dead weight and latched on with one arm and climbed with the other, while the progression of the vertical climb was still slow, it was much faster than when the caring figure did it alone.

As the hours passed into days, and the days turned into what Pastoral's internal clock determined as weeks, the bond between the two became brotherly, all while being new and nostalgic all the while. Both Pastoral and the figure were still terrified and in pain, but their tears stopped long ago. At a point in their accent, Pastoral noticed a long figure, falling slowly as it was too busy sobbing and writhing in the fetal position to latch onto anything. Reaching, Pastoral strained so hard to grab hold of the pathetic figure that he lost hold of his faceless friend. It panicked, screaming as it released its lifeline on the wall to grasp Pastoral once again. When Pastoral grasped and hushed the sad little shadow, he felt the welcoming grasp of his friend once more as it ripped the small figure away from him and placing it on its back, continuing their climb now as a trio.

"... You..." Pastoral sighed, now regaining consciousness in the real world. "Was that you?" He directed to the still kneeling 95, whose eyes lit up with happiness and hope.

"Yeah. It's me." 95 said softly, excited as he stood upright, his arms still bound behind him.

Pastoral, no words said, scrambled to the Malevolent and assaulted him with a hug. The trauma of life inside the Domain and their statistically unlikely friendship overcoming the fact that they were enemies, if not just for a minute.

“Pastoral!” ChargeWoman exclaimed as she readied her gun while charging a kick. She ran beside the two robots and aimed her weapon directly next to Pastoral’s head, shaking as she did so.

“Whoa. WHOA! FRIENDLY!” Pastoral’s hands shot up into the air as he scrambled backwards away from both 95 and ChargeWoman. As he did, ChargeWoman withdrew her weapon and slotted her visor back into her helmet.

“Sorry. Though you went ballistic and I’d have to put you down.” Vesper said, calmly, her helmet retracting into her armor, her dark red hair falling weightlessly as it did so. “So what happened? Why were you hugging a Malevolent?”

Octave soared through the cold, cutting air, pressing his knees up against his chest as his hands met on the other side of them to keep himself warm while he flew, his tears falling behind him as he cried.

Another body slammed into him hard, sending him crashing into a group of shadows holding on together. Octave hit them right in the center of their conjoined arms, breaking the group of feveral entities into smaller groups in all different directions, their screams and shouts breaking his heart as he soared passed.

As the years passed, Octave’s tears stopped. His eyes were replaced with cold and lifeless ghosts of what they were, his moments spent analyzing every second of the cold and the pain and the loneliness, for this was all he knew. The only excitement he could experience was the occasion full body slam of another poor, lost Soul.

When a huge cluster of shades hit him with the speed and weight of a freight train smashed Octave directly into the wall once more, slowing his speed on impact. When he slowly continued his flight, he felt the sudden grab of a hand grasping for him and forcefully dragging him against the current into its faceless body. In the back of his battered tortured mind, Octave hoped more than anything that they would take their frustration and anger on him and finally end his seemingly endless misery. Instead, even with the screams and cries of the spinning hell pit,he could hear hushes of affection as a third body placed Octave on his back while they continued on their whirl around the pool.

Octave felt the grasp of mutual benefit and the warmth of affection, and for the first time he could remember, he cried. And they were tears of salvation and joy.

"WHERE ARE MY FUCKING ARMS?! Where... WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY LEGS?!"

Vesper stood behind Pastoral, who stared off into space. She stepped nearer on the large balcony area, rubbing the back of her helmet somewhat awkwardly.

"It's not your fault, I hope you know that," Vesper offered. She wasn't used to providing support, but someone had to do it.

"Ves, I can tell you're uncomfortable. Unless you're making sure I don't go postal, then you can go." Pastoral's voice was cold and severe, cutting through Vesper's calm like a knife. The copper haired robot paced, looking at her hand for a moment.

"We know you're solid, Pasty. If they wanted someone to make sure you were in line, they'd have Cavatino watching you." Vesper grinned, putting a hand on Pastoral's shoulder. "It was never your job to protect those two. Your duty is to protect the people. Octave should have handled himself better."

Pastoral swatted her hand away bitterly. "Then why does it feel like I let them down?! I should have gone after Octave and subdued him myself!!! General could have, and would have destroyed him! If you can call the state he's in 'intact.'" Pastoral grunted, turning back around. "I dropped the ball, and now my bro's been MINCED. And he isn't even the first brother I've taken my eyes off of, apparently."

"Oh, so are you going to take responsibility for every malevolant? He's no more your brother than I'm your sister. And it doesn't sound like you're particularly fond of me right now." Vesper, starting to let her temper flare, gave Pastoral a rough grab, then a shove. The robots stood head to head for a moment, angry sparks flying between their gaze.

Pastoral broke off the gaze. "I'm sorry, alright? But it was different. You know what it was like in the Domain. You remember. It was painful, and cold, and dark, and no matter how hard you try to swim to the top, something drags you down. Those two kept me from drowning for what felt like an eternity. And now, they're both in pieces, in lockdown."

"Well, if I had to pick someone to look after people, it'd be you, Pasty. You're patient, you're balanced, and you'd put anybody ahead of yourself." Vesper's annoyance subsided, and she gave her colleague a gentle pat on the head. "They ought to get their act together, because I'm jealous as hell that I didn't have a bro like you in the Domain."

Pastoral and Vesper locked hands in a display of camaraderie. "I wasn't your bro then, but I don't mind being your bro now." Pastoral's abilities outside of combat were where he truly shined. A team player, he could forge iron bonds with relative ease. "Mind coming with me to check up on Octave? He's probably awake by now."

"How do you know that?" Vesper scratched her head, as Pastoral tapped his helmet, giving her a know-it-all grin.

"I just do. Let's go. He'll need someone on his side to vouch for him if he wants to get his limbs reattached."

Pastoral and Vesper walked down the stairs at a casual speed, their heavy metal boots stomping deeply without their intent. The noise startles Doctor Manhattan enough to make him jump slightly and look over at the stairs to the side of him before returning to assembling the pieces of an arm on his table.

"Vesper. Pastoral. I'm just finishing Octave's last arm. He won't be receiving them yet unfortunately. Council's orders."

"What does the New Harmony Human Council even have to do with this? Do they stop everybody from getting new limbs or is it just Combat Masters?" Pastoral protested, his eyes softening at the side sight of Octave strapped to the table.

"Just Combat Masters who throw cars at civilians." Hymn stepped from the darkness of the corner of the room.

Hymn, Combat Name SaintMan, was the stereotypical "Yes-Man" for General. No matter how heinous the order, Hymn would follow General to his very demise. Definitely to a fault.

"Give me those arms and I'll throw a car at a gaping asshole right now." Octave spat from his table, not quite willing to simply be out of this conversation.

"Another comment like that and I won't wait for your trial to bash in your skull." Hymn shot back immediately. It was well known that the two were never quite fond of each other, and General picked Hymn to watch Octave. Should Octave be the least bit out of control, Hymn would gladly bash his head in with a mace, the preferred weapon of Hymn.

"What trial?" Vesper inquired, uninformed of the situation despite her recent conversation with General.

"Three people were killed in SaberMan's rampage. He'll be going on trial to be marked as a Malevolent and then deactivated." Hymn smirked as he glared at Octave, knowing this was news to him.

"Actually, that was called off because I can conclusively prove the cause of the episode and the fact that it is not likely to happen again." Manhattan interjected, his eyes never leaving the half built arm in his hands.

"Really?" Pastoral stepped off the stairs towards Manhattan, hopefully.

"Post traumatic stress disorder is my theory, which is no surprise as there have been many mental disorders recorded in Souls; survivors guilt, autism, and bipolar disorder being examples. In most Malevolent, forms of mental retardation or psychopathy are the very reasons they are not turned into Robot Masters. And while all Souls remember their life in the Domain, none have recorded an instance in which they relived such time." Doctor Manhattan rolled around on his wheeled chair as he spoke, visualizing his need to keep active at all times. Between working on the bodies of the Robot Masters and his daily routines, the only moments he would be expected to sit down were small ones like these.

"The insane plea is always the way to go, I guess." Octave shrugged with what little shoulder he had left. "Do I get my limbs back so I can smack Hymn's smirk off his face?"

"I'll be finishing your saber-arm later, which is sort of difficult because I'm working backwards from Doctor Monday's design. For now, you'll have this arm I'm finishing on now with a simple saber and my Break Raid subroutine." Manhattan stared at Octave intently, wishing the Combat Master would actually use the attack he designed.

"Well... I'll still be watching you closely for some time. General even said we get to be on the field together until we know you're straight." Hymn butted in on the conversation that left him as he sat back down in embarrassment for his previous and false claims.

The room filled with silence as Vesper and Pastoral made their way to Octave's side. As Manhattan finished Octave's final limb, he prepared the belittled Combat Master for repairs, removing the damaged parts completely destroyed by Cavatino, who wielded a power do terrible that many of the humans have considered deactivating him on principle. With Combat Masters like him and the other S-Ranked Master, New Harmony did not need nuclear weapons. They were the WMD's.

With the preparation ready, Doctor Manhattan reattached the legs previously removed simply by Cavatino so Octave wouldn't run away. After that, Octave's arms were reattached with slow and gentle ease. By the end of it, an hour had passed, and Octave was, for the most part, repaired.

The weathered blue Combat Master stood up and rotated his new joint, moving with the freshly oiled ease he expected. Without a word, he drew his new, faux saber. It lit up with a dark blue glow, custom made for him by Manhattan. While it was nowhere near as deadly as his original saber he'd kept maintained for centuries, it would work for now.

"Now, your new saber is about 45% less effective than your old one if you don't count the unique abilities." Manhattan day back down at his chair and brought up the schematics for the original blade Monday created for Octave.

"Counting it?" Pastoral inquired curiously.

"... 95%." Manhattan did the math in his head for a second before speaking.

"Aw... Hymmy! That's about four percent from you being able to touch me in a fight." Octave mocked Hymn with a sarcastically worried tone. Hymn grunted defiantly In response.

"If it helps, you might be able to spar with Sonata without accidentally cutting her in half by opening your blade." Vesper joked, excitedly shaking Octave's shoulders.

"Yeah..." Octave laughed slightly before veering off. "Pasty, did you see-"

"I did." Pastoral replied solemnly.

"Did you go crazy too?"

"No. That was just you. You were always the wildcard." Pastoral joked.

"Right. I think that Malevolent was the one holding us together."

"He was. General told me that the reason he got labeled as a Malevolent was because he was shouting 'Where are they?'" Pastoral said sadly.

"Then we have to clear his name or something! He's a good guy! And that copy ability could be something we could use!" Octave shouted, hopeful for the release of his forcefully estranged brother.

"He's killed people, Octave. He's going to be deactivated for that." Pastoral looked at the floor as he spoke, ashamed and disappointed that the news he was telling Octave.

"Oh... I-"

"Sorry ladies, but the spaz here and I have a mission." Hymn walked into the fray, shooting his shoulders back and forth as he walked.

"Excuse me? He just got repaired and practically disarmed." Vesper fought, standing in front of Hymn.

"General's orders. You may lead the A-Ranks, Vesper, but General's in charge." Hymn blew past her after speaking, slamming his shoulder into Vesper's as he walked past. "You and I are going to take out a hyperactive Nexus Spire or six. Those were my orders for when you were combat effective."

"2 of us on a Nexus Spire? The Screechers will tear us apart." Octave argued, confused.

"We'll be fine if they think you're a Malevolent too, you freak." Hymn grabbed hold of Octave and walked him out of the lab. "And if you make one wrong move, I'll gladly kill you without question."

Octave shoved Hymn off of him before turning to wave at Pastoral and Vesper behind him. "Just leave me out there. The Screechers will make better company than you."

...What exactly ARE the ranks?

I tried googling it but it seems to vary from game to game?

Something of our creation. Informal rankings based on the individual threat level of each warrior. Cavatino is terrifyingly dangerous on his own, so he's S rank. Pastoral, Octave, Vesper, and most of the other protagonists are A rank, which is pretty admirable. Then there's B rank and C rank.

Octave, departing for the Gate out of the City, left Hymn alone with Pastoral for a moment. Before Hymn could exit the room, Octave's twin caught hold of his shoulder.

Hymn, a fair skinned master, wore regal armor. His left arm had a lantern shield fused to it, the hand forming a blaster in heavy combat. His left arm formed a powerful energy mace. A potent combination in mid-ranged combat. He stood a bit taller than Pastoral and Octave, but Pastoral was not intimidated. Rather, he moved forward, standing directly behind Hymn, speaking loudly and clearly.

"Saintman," Pastoral flatly stated. "If my brother doesn't come home alive and intact, I will hold you solely responsible." Pastoral's eyes were deadly serious, his free hand clenched.

Hymn rolled his eyes, turning towards Pastoral and smacking his hand off. "You honestly believe you can face m-"

Pastoral cut him off with a wave of his hand and a quick tut. "Hymn, in the past five decades, how much have you improved?" Before Hymn could answer, Pastoral continued. 

"I launched the first attack on Gamma, Saintman. I faced an Omega Unit and fought it to a standstill. I've sparred with A and S rank Robot Masters. I've trained and fought non-stop against enemies you wouldn't believe, alongside allies who have both lent me their strength and leaned on me for support; all while you've remained the same, complacently taking easy tasks without improving your abilities. So, do I believe I can destroy you? I'm unsure."

Pastoral leaned forward, his eyes glinting with genuine fury as he spoke the final word.

"Do not give me an excuse to find out."

Hymn took a step back, uncertain of how to continue. He simply scoffed. "A lion does not concern himself with the musings of sheep. Your brother's fate is his own to decide. Now stand aside, weakling."

Hymn teleported away to begin his mission, his purple beam of light washing over Pastoral, who watched it zip off.

Something didn't seem right; allowing Octave, in a weakened state, to go it alone with only Hymn to watch his back. Saintman was cruel, conniving, and would likely relish the opportunity to rid himself of competition, or at very least he would allow Octave to endure unnecessary damage if it benefited him.

"Harsh words, Pastoral." The robot master jumped with surprise when he was addressed by a smooth, calm, lilting voice. It was Lady Opera.

While not his military superior, Opera was the authority in other ways. One of the first Robot Masters, he was the spiritual guide to all whose souls were conflicted. Friendly but aloof, she was always found where she was needed. She smiled, patting Pastoral on the head.

"You don't trust Hymn to protect your brother while he's unarmed." She seemed a bit...troubled, as she mentioned Octave. "He shouldn't be forced to fight so soon after his episode. Killing humans is a serious offense. I wish he'd had a chance so speak to me before being sent out."

Pastoral nodded. "...He didn't mean to. He just snapped."

"You needn't reckon his sins. Just go after him. Look after him, as you always do." Opera smiled, giving Pastoral a bump on the head with the side of her hand. "Go."

"But I wasn't assigned to-"

"You're going to go no matter what the rules say. Quit dwelling and get a head start. I recommend the back door." Opera pinched Pastoral's cheek, then turned and walked away. She seemed to have other things to do, besides setting Pastoral on a correct path.

"...Uuuugh. Never a dull moment." Pastoral sighed, and began walking as he set a waypoint for a destination he'd never visited. If he took the teleportation grid, his peers would know where he was headed. He intended to follow off the radar. With a powerful woosh, he took off as fast as his legs could carry him, heading towards the countryside.

Aaaaaaaaw shit.

Grudge match, coming soon!

Pastoral dipped low, his cannons charging. He stared Cavatino in the eye, targeting him like a hawk. Cavatino was not impressed with the obvious grandstanding. "Pasty, you know damn well that you're not going to hit me at that range."

"Then dodge it, pretty-boy." The brown robot master aimed both cannons, and fired. While the preparation gave Pastoral's attack away, the sheer power startled Cavatino, who hopped to the side. A powerful streak of raw, platinum energy passed him as he avoided the shot. The attack was easily enough to fatally wound any standard master.

And it had been a ploy. Pastoral bolted towards Cavatino, fists raised. The two collided, Pastoral's sheer momentum sending the two of them flying towards the canyon wall.

Cavatino moved quickly and fluidly as the two "danced," Pastoral attacking and the blood-red master defending without even raising his hands. Pastoral's fists carried the force of elephant guns, parting the air. Ferroman was not playing. He watched Pastoral's posture as the two ground to a halt.

The explosion in the distance changed the light around them, as Pastoral's shot from before struck the canyon wall. There was a silver-blue shift, but neither stopped fighting.

Pastoral swung his leg in a powerful side-kick, but Cavatino moved low, seemingly disappearing. Pastoral watched him, and was alarmed when his hand began to move. Cavatino made a grab for Pastoral's base leg.

One touch could mean the end of the fight. Pastoral lept over it, and brought it down in an axe kick at Cavatino's head. The red robot sidestepped the attack, clenching his fist. "Want to see who's faster, eh Ferroman?!"

Pastoral and Cavatino both planted their feet, and in a brown and red blur, they darted across the canyon floor, trading punches. Wrists struck fists. Punches and kicks echoed as their attacks were blocked and dodged. After a moment of endless noise and motion, Cavatino was driven back against the canyon wall.

"YOU'RE MINE!!!" Pastoral brought back his arm, transforming it into a buster. He punched and fired at the same time, blasting a massive hole in the wall, missing Cavatino completely.

When Pastoral turned, the air around him shifted. Cavatino's arm was cocked, and his hand was open. Time seemed to slow down, as Pastoral looked Cavatino in the eye.

He could see nothing but pure killing intent. Ferroman's palm was death. His breath was miasma. His entire body turned, as he moved to administer an unavoidable killing blow.

Pastoral froze, his teeth clenched and his eyes squeezed shut, as he prepared to have his head blown off.

Tap.


"Boop."

Cavatino paused his attack, prodding Pastoral gently on the visor.

"Looks like the match is over, Pasty. Now, let me explain a few things." As Pastoral peeled his eyes open, Cavatino relaxed his arms, standing in a relaxed, formal manner. "Number one. I didn't want to attack Octave. General was going to kill him. I intervened. You would have done the same."

Pastoral stood there, completely frozen, still paralyzed from the expectation of a killing blow.

"Number two...I still have Octave's best interest at heart. Hymn might intend to visit extrajudicial harm upon your brother. So, I intend to assure that does not occur."

Pastoral's buster went slack, his arms dangling at their sides.

"Number three, I didn't intend to stop you. I intended to slow you down, so the team could catch up. Robot Masters don't go out alone."

Cavatino reached for Pastoral's head, and gently turned it. Solo, Cresendo, Vesper, and Sonata all stood there. "Some fight," Cresendo noted. "You alright, Pastoral?"

Pastoral straightened himself, smacking dust off of his shoulders, as Cavatino extended his hand.

"Are we square, Pasty?"

"Yeah. I think we are, 'Tino."

That was a nice twist

"So how far are we gonna down until you shoot me in the back?" Octave stopped his quick forward walking pace sharply, Hymn following suit behind him.

"That was more the plan for the trip back."

"General's orders?" Octave asked stiffly.

"My own agenda. General's the one who got the Council to hold off dipping you into a vat of lava." Hymn said.

"Right. So, what? The Shriekers tore me apart in my weakened state?" Octave asked.

"Something like that." Hymn replied.

Octave continued his path forward, his hands placed calmly in his pockets on his jacket. As a stylistic preference of the time of their birth, Pastoral and Octave both wore a slimming black body suit with armor on the chest, lower legs, and on the arm from the forearm to their fingertips, the armor on the chest lighter and providing less protection. It guaranteed their speed, and with the mechanical genius of the late Doctor Monday, they were made of a tough metallic alloy. The jackets, albeit light fabric, was durable enough to have never been replaced in both Pastoral and Octave's lives. They were short jackets, not going much lower than the actual chest armor. While they were the last of almost one hundred Combat Units that Doctor Monday designed, Pastoral and Octave were the only two with this specific design.

The spiteful duo entered the city limits of old Abel city, a once thriving metropolis that was the scene of many ancient and forgotten battles. The ruined city was also the main location of scouting missions Octave himself and many others participated in. It was so big, there was no way they could ever search it all or clear it of Malevolent.

At night, Screechers, the most terrible unit the Malevolent have available, roamed by the thousands. Robot Masters considered them as kin as humans considered rabid baboons. They were a different breed; territorial, they tend to follow hordes of their own kind and shred anything that entered their realm to oblivion. Many great Combat Masters had lost their lives to these beasts.

Octave and Hymn continued into the massive, broken skyline. The sun drew closer and closer into the horizon, the degenerating light darkening the color of the light gray and dark blue Robot Masters walking like with their feet dragging. Though they were incapable of being fatigued simply by walking, they were capable of not wanting to complete a task.

"We should probably take cover for the night." Octave said, glaring at the dying sun.

"We're walking. We'll run if we need to." Hymn bluntly stated.

"I donno, tubby. Shriekers might tear you apart in your slow state." Octave joked, repeating the cause of his demise previously stated.

"Keep moving." Hymn said.

"What am I? Your prisoner?" Octave refuted.

"I don't consider you a Combat Master. I consider you a child with a deadly weapon with enough friends to convince everyone that you can keep it." Hymn spat back, voice full of venom and spite.

"Sticks and stones, SaintBoy." Octave kicked a desolate and ruined car out of his way, sending it sliding and opening a pathway into a sea of gridlock. "Say, Hum."

"Hymn."

"Whatever. I've heard everyone's theories on this city. Records say it was once the scene of a great battle. That bridge over there was where some legendary Reploid repelled an attack. But at some point, this planet and the rest of the world was lost. So on scouting missions, I always ask a new partner: what do you think beat the humans so bad?" Octave's tone became less caustic and sarcastic and more solemn. It was a side of the blue Robot Master Hymn had never seen before.

"Personally? The Reploids. They were like us, but not. I think someone got scared and took it too far." Hymn followed suit with his tone, noticing how alien this mood was with Octave as he spoke.

Without another word Pastoral walked past the "carefully" placed car and made his way through the cars. Hymn walked close behind, the sum dying under the horizon with its bright orange brilliance to allude to the sun's previous existence.

Suddenly, there was a loud scream, much like a human's or a robot master crying out in extreme pain. Such was the bowl of a Screecher. Believed to be in incredible pain at all times, the only noises they are capable of making are blood curdling screams, or screeches for their namesake.

"We have to go." Octave said, urgency in his voice as he drew his simple and weak saber.

"Maybe we should find a place to hide..." Hymn pondered quickly.

"Too late now, tubby. You better keep up!" Octave dashed forwards, a car next to him flipping on its side as he passed it. He jumped atop the rest of the cars, caving them in completely as he stepped on them. Within seconds, Octave had run across the 8-laned highway full of gridlock and found himself on the side of a hill of dead grass.

When he turned, Octave saw the much slower Robot Master trying to keep up with Octave. The Screechers were pooling behind him, their glowing yellow eyes seemed to come together to make a spotlight of malcontent. Their damaged joints and rusted metal bodies were due to how they were born.

The means in which a Soul of the Domain is born into their bodies determines much about them, unlike humans. A human can be born inside a shack in the middle of the Wastes and still be a functioning individual. The Souls of a Screecher was tiny, like a spec of dust compared to the boulders of New Harmony's Combat Masters. After being sent out into invisible signals after failing the Soul Omega State Evaluation, the test to determine whether a Souls is fit to be given a body in New Harmony, they are caught by one of the many Nexus Spires in the Wastes and are sent into the nearest hospitable body. Where other, more complex Malevolent wait to squire more complex bodies, be it from a dead pre-war Reploid body or an advanced drone, Screechers house themselves in almost skeletal, desolate, ruined drones from before the war. They sharpen the metal fingers on their new bodies into claws and run on all fours. No synthetic faces, no usable armor, the Screechers' one advantage is that they come in packs, hordes even, and they let loose a scream that shakes the very foundation of every Robot Master's core.

One Screecher jumped onto Hymn's elbow, driving its claws into the front and back of his breastplate. While Hymn was much slower than Octave, he was also much stronger physically, his body sacrificing speed for armor and pneumonic strength. Hymn placed one hand on the screaming frame and crushed its skull with ease, yanking the body off of himself and continuing onward.

No matter how strong Hymn was, Octave could see he wouldn't make it. With hundreds of Screechers now on the highway, there was no way either of them could win alone. Together, however, was another story entirely.

Octave dashed forwards, his weight and velocity turning two Screechers to dust as he kicked them with a swinging roundhouse.

"What are you doing?!" Hymn stopped his run and turned sharply. "You trying to get us killed?"

"The opposite!" SaberMan was forced to shout in order to be heard, the collective cries of their insane enemies maxing their ear's audio levels. SaberMan, with his basic and weak blade, jumped forward and cut a Screecher in two, a second one lunging into him impaling itself on his held out blade. "Cover my flank! I got yours!"

The Screechers circled around the two Masters, encompassing them entirely. Both with 180 degrees to cover, SaberMan and SaintMan began to hack away at the foes. Hymn drew his mace as he swatted a Screecher to the side with his lantern shield arm. His mace quickly lit up with a green energy, allowing it to smash through almost any metal. SaintMan brought his heavy weapon down on top of another Screecher, pounding it into a crushed-can like fashion. Three stepped up to him, SaintMan's weapon to slow to take out all three safely, he spun himself around in a circle, mace held outward, knocking the crazed foes over like bowling pins.

SaberMan's blade was much weaker, but effective against these Screechers. His original saber was meant to cut through tanks and other things he shouldn't be able to cut through. This was designed for B-Ranked lancers with something to prove. Due to the weapon's low functioning power, to use any of his moves besides Break-Raid and Time-Skimmer would overheat and destroy his newly replaced body. Break-Raid shot his weapon at the enemy. Besides the move not really being his style, the attack required him to wait a few seconds for his blade to recharge. And Time-Skimmer was an ability his body used, so his sword had nothing to do with it.

With a loud and tried shout, SaberMan focused his speed to his weapon arm, slashing at an unprecedented speed and cutting dozens of Screechers apart.

Within an hour, the immediate threat was eliminated. The unrelenting power of the S-Ranked SaintMan and the A-Ranked Octave overwhelming a considerably large pack of Screechers.

"I would have been fine without your help." Hymn said, as he exited his combat mode. Octave followed suit.

"You'd think now would be the time where you weren't an asshole." Octave continued up the dead hill he was previously on and began to enter the back half of Old Abel City, where the majority of scouting parties were met their ends. It was a sort of escape for Octave.

He often came out and fought as many Malevolent he could find in the most dangerous and enemy controlled zone near New Harmony. He went out by himself so often, the Malevolent who live in the Wastes know SaberMan well. Recently, assassins of a sort came after Octave every time he went out, the most shaking being from a crazed murderer named Slash. Slash was as fast, maybe even faster, than Octave. He had blades protruding from his knuckles and simply enjoys killing, so much so he laughs furiously while fighting. Octave barely made it out of that fight with his life, Slash running away when Octave took away one of his hands.

But for now, Octave was crippled and forced to travel through the city to complete a mission that he was certain General and the Council sent him on to kill him. Even then, if Octave survived by the mercy of Hymn, the civilians, who were already terrified of Combat Masters, would demand his head. This urban paradise Octave felt most at home in was probably the only home he really had left, no matter how much he wished the opposite.

John's got the next one. I just wanna say how excited I am about this series thing. John and I have been talking about it and even though it's gonna be a long project; thematically this is one of the most impressive stories I've ever been a part of and I wanted to thank all who've been reading it.

Kruger 2521 wrote:John's got the next one. I just wanna say how excited I am about this series thing. John and I have been talking about it and even though it's gonna be a long project; thematically this is one of the most impressive stories I've ever been a part of and I wanted to thank all who've been reading it.

Despite being a reader, I'm equally excited to see where this goes. Throughly enjoying it as a stand alone story, much in the same way I'd enjoy a novel.

The Robot Masters, outside the city, chatted as they strolled through the wastes. Cavatino was far in front, as Pastoral spoke to his colleagues.

Vesper breathed a heavy sigh, rubbing her temples. "Pastoral, we went through this before a decade ago. There's really no reason for you to be given a larger body."

Pastoral opened his mouth to speak, but Solo interjected. "Think about it. A bigger body is a bigger target, and you get shot at just as much as the rest of us."

"But couldn't I lift more and punch harder with a heavier frame?" Pastoral patted his arm. His current body, while comparatively smaller than the others, was built to emulate a sturdy, healthy young man. "And I'm fast enough to dodge most anything."

Crescendo shrugged his powerful shoulders. "Hey, bigger frame usually means more shielding. Like me." He was the largest of the current group, and took pride in his size. He was at least a head taller than Vesper, who he was walking beside. "Don't knock it until you try it."

Sonata, confused, decided to take Crescendo's side in the discussion. "Yeah, it'd actually be pretty neat to be bigger. Why don't they just build us twenty feet tall, so we can lift stuff easier?"

Vesper rolled her eyes, as Solo responded curtly. "Crescendo, you were built bigger because your tools, occupation, and combat style demanded a larger, bulkier frame. Pastoral just wants big dumbass muscles so he can flex all the time. A decade ago, Monday accidentally installed his Integrated Circuit in a muscleman body that was built for an Industrial Master."

Vesper shuddered when she recalled the incident. "Pastoral was...obnoxious that day."

One Decade Prior. wrote:Pastoral: Guys, seriously look at my muscles. Look how big I can get them when I bend my arms.

Vesper: Please shut up.

Pastoral: Watch me completely widen out when I flex like this.

Octave: Monday, HURRY with the deinstallation process. If he keeps talking, I'll seriously kill him.

Pastoral: OH, Vesper! Come feel this muscle. It's seriously the biggest one. Watch how I can make it pop up. HURRRRRRRGH.

Vesper: Get away. Please don't touch me.

Solo: Do I need to be here...?

Pastoral: I'm so freaking chiseled. It's...AMAZING. I'm maxed out buffwise. Vesper. Seriously, come feel my muscles. I command it.

Vesper: No.

Pastoral positively glowed as he recalled the incident. Everyone else cringed. If there was any reason to dislike Pastoral, it was that incident.

However, the time for remembrance soon passed when Cavatino held up a single hand, calling for the others to pause. "...I believe Octave and SaintMan are nearing their destination. We must hurry."

The small fireteam nodded, and with a sudden burst of motion, all broke into a dead sprint. They equalized their speed. Vesper and Cavatino, the fastest, moved slower so the others could keep up. They sprang over broken cars and across canyons and gaps, moving at a steady clip as Cavatino followed Octave's signal.

"NOT SO FAST, LADIES!" A sudden voice called out to the group. Pastoral halted as a buster shot whizzed by his head. He prepared both cannons, recognizing the voice.

Skull. The enemy robot stood atop a large building, sneering down at his former colleagues, his arm cannon smoking. Pastoral sized him up, somewhat surprised. His arm, which had been previously torn off, was repaired; better than new. His body-work was buffed out, dents removed. A coat of light grey paint surrounded his armored parts. He looked as good as new.

Pastoral lifted his cannon, but a barrage of busterfire peppered his position. Crescendo selflessly moved in the way, his powerful armor taking the shots without flinching. The building was full of droid gunmen. "This is a trap to slow us down," Crescendo reported as he and Pastoral moved to cover.

Cavatino thought for a moment, before making the call. "Solo and Vesper, go on ahead! You two will be the greatest help to Octave and Saintman! The three of us will finish off Skull once and for all."

Sonata, ducking behind Crescendo for cover, was overstimulated and frightened by the lights, sounds, and loud noises. Cavatino gave her a sympathetic look, before giving her an order. "Stay here, Sonata, and try not to move into the open!" Sonata nodded quickly, keeping her head down.

Pastoral and Crescendo accepted the order. Pastoral did so with great gusto. "Aye aye, sir."

...Wait, why is Sonata missing from the group all of a sudden?