The rustling of fabric and the occasional soft gasp hinted at the unspoken intimacy unfolding. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if sharing in the secret dance of two souls entwined, their movements fluid and synchronized, a silent language spoken only by the heart.
Venku's chest gleamed with sweat, his smile lazy and dangerous. "You're beautiful," he murmured, hovering over the woman sprawled beneath him.
The woman chuckled, pulling the sheet over her chest. "You don't need to tell me twice."
Before Venku could lean down again, a voice thundered through the door. "Hey, newbie! Playtime's over! It's time to kill some Els."
France's voice was unmistakable.
Venku jolted upright, scrambling for his clothes. He pulled on his jacket, strapping his belt, his movements sharp, frantic. Grabbing a thick wad of cash, he slapped it down on the dresser.
"This means a lot to me," he said quickly. "I may not make it back alive. I need my seed to live on. You're perfect."
Amiyona lay back in the sheets "You know," she laughed, "I would have done it for free."
Venku smirked but didn't stop. He slammed the door open, stepping into the hall where France stood, arms crossed, Dakota at his side.
France's eyes narrowed. "Don't mess around, rookie. Punctuality is a must for an Elda Knight."
"Yes, sir," Venku replied, trying to sound sharper than he felt.
The three moved together down the hall, their boots striking the steel floor with confidence. Pilots fell in line behind them, a procession of steel and discipline. France in the middle, Dakota on his right, Venku on his left, the walk of killers.
Venku's wrist comm lit up. He answered immediately, whispering, "Yes, babe?"
Milly's voice cracked with tears and frustration. "You know that was rude, sending me home in a cab without a proper goodbye. I didn't even get to make love to you one last time."
Venku's eyes softened. "I'm sorry. I told you, I had to go. I'm going out to war."
Her sobs grew louder. "Oh my gosh, Venky baby... please don't die."
Venku's mouth opened, but before he could reply, France snatched the comm from his wrist and cut the line with a tap.
"Listen here," France barked, his eyes like blades. "You need to get focused, NOW. Once we reach the battle field it'll be like walking into hell."
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Venku's shoulders sagged, his face comedically disappointed, like a child scolded.
Dakota shook his head, smirking. "You better put those test scores to the test kid because where we're going it aint no simulation"
Venku nods "Yes sir."
They entered the hangar.
The sight was overwhelming: towering mechs lined the chamber like gods of war. Their steel armor gleamed under floodlights, their visors glowing neon blue. The ground rumbled with each hydraulic hiss as the fleet prepared.
France climbed into his golden mech, YEEVEL, the cockpit sealing with a hiss. His voice carried through the comms, broadcasted to the entire fleet.
YEEVEL
"Soldiers of the new order... hear me!" His words rolled like thunder. "The future is Royal. We are the pinnacle of evolution, the chosen inheritors of Deer Point! Today, we march not for scraps, not for survival, but for dominion. The El Territory has rotted under the filth of bacteria monsters long enough. We will reclaim the 50% of this island that belongs to us. We will burn them clean. And when the smoke clears, the world will know, the Royals are the eternal masters of this island!"
The pilots roared, their voices shaking the hangar.
Venku slid into the cockpit of Frodeon, his hands gripping the controls. The mech hummed around him, syncing to his pulse.
FRODEON
Dakota's mech the beast Borgus shifted beside him, massive cannons sliding into place.
BORGUS
Dakota spoke to the Borgus from inside his cockpit "Borgus, my facial hair feels distracting, give me a clean shave, but leave the mustache."
A deep baritone voice rumbled, "As you command, Master Dakota."
With a mechanical hiss, the contraption unfolded, metal arms extending, their clipper-hands whirring to life as they began trimming his beard with precise, calculated strokes.
The hangar gates yawned open.
One by one, the Elda Knight mechs launched into the sky, their thrusters igniting like comets. Behind them, the Beta mechs surged forward, smaller but lethal, a swarm of steel. And trailing them in endless ranks came thousands of Delta robots, their eyes burning red, their formation like a tidal wave of iron.
The fleet soared toward the horizon.
Far below, the El Territory lay barren, a wasteland of broken stone and twisted ruins. The air was foul, the ground cracked and gray. And from the shadows, the enemy stirred.
Thousands of grotesque bacteria monsters surged over the landscape, their bodies bulging and snapping, their mouths splitting into jagged maws. They screamed in unholy chorus, aware of what approached, aware of the blood that would soon be spilled.
The battlefield was set.