Year: AP 925

  Planet: Atlana

  No moonlight.

  No starlight.

  No streetlight.

  No light of nature or man.

  The darkness of war consumed it all…

  The only reprieve of the oppressive blackness was the occasional fractured glow of battle—each explosion a fleeting heartbeat against the suffocating night. Rockets screamed through the sky like dying comets. Artillery thundered across the plains. The horizon pulsed in rhythmic agony, painting the heavens in staccato flashes of dying lights.

  And yet, amid that chaos, a single ember burned bright.

  The NOVA—fourteen meters tall, two hundred tons of Shade-tech and armor—moved with impossible grace. Its gait was heavy enough to crack bedrock with every footfall, yet each motion carried the elegance of practiced perfection. Gleaming crimson plating, traced with gold trim, reflected the flickering light of distant explosions. In its right hand, it wielded a broadsword the size of a shuttlecraft, its blade alive with a ghostly aura that seemed to shout in defiance against the darkness.

  Within its armored heart sat Sir Kenley Mason, Royal Knight of House Zander. His Optical Sensory Interface encasing his head granted him perfect vision—360 degrees of battlefield awareness rendered in flawless clarity. Every motion, every gust of dust, every flicker of heat was drawn into his senses through the machine’s data core. He could feel the pulse of the earth beneath him. He could hear the dying cries of soldiers hundreds of meters away. He could almost taste the ozone as artillery split open the air.

  This was what it meant to pilot a NOVA—what it meant to stand between divine potential and mechanized ingenuity. Inside this cocoon of metal and empowered by Vigor, Mason was no longer merely human. He was a living conduit between two worlds—between the Shade and the Aima.

  “Heavy artillery detected,” came the calm, melodic voice in his ear. The familiar sound of his wife’s syntax carried an odd blend of both tender warmth and precision calculation.

  “Top ridge,” Kat continued. “Three signatures. Class designation: Annihilator. Range: 1.3 kilometers.”

  Mason’s eyes narrowed as the targeting glyphs appeared before him. “Three…” he said softly, “I accept your challenge.”

  Almost on cue, the hilltop erupted in fire as three barrels roared as one.

  The shells screamed toward him—massive, high-explosive 20-inch rounds cutting white arcs through the night.

  “I am the shield of the defenseless,” Mason recited.

  With a single thought, the NOVA’s colossal left arm swept outward, the open palm facing the incoming barrage of death and destruction.

  “Divine Grace,” came the incantation.

  A surge of sapphire energy flared into existence, forming a translucent shield like a prism suspended in midair. The projectiles struck in blinding succession—

  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

  The explosions blossomed across the barrier like fireworks before dissolving into ripples of light.

  “Shade Drive: 90%.”

  Kat reported, her calm voice like a sanctuary amidst a raging storm.

  Still, Mason pressed forward, his massive steps shaking the battlefield. The shield shimmered as it absorbed another volley—then another.

  “Shade Drive: 75%.”

  Mason gritted his teeth. “Just a few more steps…”

  Each impact rattled through his cockpit, a physical rhythm against his own heartbeat.

  “Shade Drive: 65%.”

  That was close enough.

  “Kat,” he said, a grin ghosting his lips, “Shade Jump.”

  “Confirmed.”

  The world shattered.

  One instant, the NOVA stood before the hill—its silhouette wreathed in sapphire light. The next, it was gone. A blur of scarlet light reappeared behind the three tanks. The broadsword ignited with blinding brilliance, cutting a searing blue arc through the air.

  Falling Leaf!

  The first tank split cleanly in two, its core igniting in a blossom of flames.

  Crossing River!

  The second was bisected from turret to tread, molten metal spilling like blood from an open artery.

  Divided Peaks!

  The third erupted as the blade carved through its midsection, the detonation painting the sky in an orange blaze.

  Three strokes.

  One heartbeat.

  Then silence—followed by the concussive roar of simultaneous explosions.

  The shockwave rippled outward, tearing through the night with symphonic fury. Mason’s crimson titan stood tall amid the inferno, its sword still glowing with afterlight. Ash and shrapnel rained down like burning snow.

  Kat’s voice chimed again. “Targets eliminated. Efficiency rating: ninety-eight percent.”

  Mason exhaled slowly, letting the hum of the NOVA’s systems sync with the rhythm of his own heartbeat. “Ninety-eight?” he teased. “Guess I’m getting slow.”

  “Or merciful. You left one pilot alive.”

  A brief silence passed. Mason’s gaze softened.

  “My strength is ruled by restraint,” he quoted solemnly before raising the massive blade, letting its ghostly glow fade. In the distance, fresh signatures flickered to life.

  “Hostile aircraft detected. Range: 5.2 kilometers. Identification—Fangs. Fourteen units. Approaching at Mach 2.”

  “Fangs,” Mason muttered, almost to himself. Fangs were slow compared to most Malus interceptors—but their payloads were catastrophic. If they breached the 3-kilometer mark, their ordnances of guided, black-matter bombs could eradicate entire cities. Even the Vigor-reinforced, reflective armor of his NOVA wouldn’t fare any better than a frosted marshmallow in a bonfire.

  Already, his instincts moved faster than thought. The NOVA’s targeting reticles bloomed before him—fourteen red brackets locking onto the incoming formation. His breath steadied, syncing to the rising hum of the Shade Drive as it drew Vigor from the air, from the earth, from all around the massive piece of Shade-tech. Invisible threads of light laced skyward, unseen to human eyes. They tangled around each Fang like ghostly marionette strings, pulsing faintly before linking back to the NOVA’s data core.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Kat’s voice cut in. “Target acquisition complete. All missiles programmed.”

  Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Fire.”

  The world erupted.

  Twin bays on the NOVA’s chest split open with hydraulic precision, exposing forty recessed missile tubes. In less than a second, they ignited in a cascading barrage of flame and thunder.

  Forty missiles streaked into the heavens, carving spirals of glowing emissions through the night. The sky bloomed with contrails; their brilliance reflected in the surface of the NOVA’s polished armor.

  Mason didn’t bother to watch. He simply turned, sword resting against the shoulder of his war machine. The distant sky behind him erupted in sequential bursts of light.

  BOOM.

  BOOM. BOOM.

  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

  “Fang one—destroyed. Fang two—destroyed. Fang three—destroyed... all fourteen targets neutralized.”

  “Good,” Mason exhaled. “Next target.”

  Kat didn’t pause. “Hostile ground units: 2.5 kilometers. Two Annihilators. One Juggernaut.”

  The word Juggernaut drew the faintest flicker of tension across Mason’s features. The heavy tank was a fortress on treads, and armed with three 35-inch barrels of long-range obliteration, capable of reaching well within his current position.

  “I live by honor, not acclaim,” Mason recited again.

  The NOVA surged forward, sprinting across shattered ground, each step a miniature earthquake.

  Kat’s warning came almost too late—

  “Incoming artillery—three shells!”

  “Divine Grace!” Mason roared.

  The left arm of the war machine swept upward, glowing as a sapphire barrier flared to life. Three 35-inch shells slammed into it with concussive bursts of light, their force dispersed like raindrops against a plane of glass.

  “Shade Drive: 50%.”

  The blasts faded, and Mason pressed forward.

  Another volley.

  “Shade Drive: 35%.”

  He was almost in position, but now the two Annihilators signaled that they were in range with their own 20-inch shells, joining the devastating power of the unyielding Juggernaut.

  “Shade Drive 15%. Targets in range of Shade Jump.”

  Mason dropped the barrier. “I endure until the end,” he continued his reciting.

  Reality tore.

  The air imploded around him as the Shade Jump triggered—an explosion of light without sound. In a blink, the ruby giant vanished and reappeared behind the trio of tanks.

  Rising Moon!

  The sword ignited, tracing a luminous arc upward through the darkness.

  The first Annihilator split apart instantly, molten steel fountaining skyward.

  Burning Valley!

  He pivoted, his blade sweeping horizontally in a streak of pure energy. The second Annihilator’s turret separated cleanly from its chassis before both halves erupted into another geyser of fire.

  Then came the Juggernaut.

  The behemoth turned, its triple cannons rotating toward him, each barrel promising a quick and certain death.

  The NOVA extended its open palm directly at the wicked machine, but no shield of sapphire light appeared. Instead, Mason poured the remaining Vigor from his Shade Drive into a new incantation.

  “Brimstone,” he summoned.

  From the palm of the NOVA’s golden gauntlet, energy coalesced—swirling, sizzling, screaming as it condensed into a roaring orb of ionic power and combustion. The air around it shimmered from the heat. In milliseconds, the fireball grew larger than the mech’s hand—five meters across, smelted veins of Shade energy writhing within.

  Then—released.

  The sphere launched forward at impossible speed, leaving behind a streak of blinding radiance. It struck the Juggernaut dead center, engulfing it in a tidal wave of fire and light. The ground quaked beneath the explosion as liquified debris rained across the field.

  When the light faded, nothing remained but molten slag.

  “Shade Drive: 2%. CRITICAL.”

  Kat’s voice carried an edge of reproach. “Sir, that last attack was excessive. Your sword would have sufficed.”

  Mason leaned back in his pilot seat, smirking faintly. “Perhaps. But the armor on a Juggernaut isn’t something to underestimate. I wanted to be sure.”

  “Pragmatic. But wasteful.”

  “Wasteful?” He chuckled softly, “Call it dramatic flair.”

  Kat hesitated before replying, “Acknowledged… dramatic flair recorded.”

  “Kat, is that another attempt at sarcasm?”

  “All targets destroyed,” Kat replied as if not hearing the knight’s question. “No hostiles detected. Long-range sensors clear. I would advise you, Sir, to use this time to recharge the Shade Drive.”

  Mason exhaled deeply, “Agreed, but stay alert. Let me know of any approaching actively.”

  “Affirmative, Sir.”

  The Royal Knight relaxed for the first time since the deployment of his drop pod. The NOVA’s systems hummed softly around him, like a beast settling into sleep. But peace was fleeting — the warning glyph on his HUD pulsed.

  Shade Drive: 2%. CRITICAL.

  Closing his eyes, Mason ordered, “Begin recharge.”

  Instantly, the giant’s armor shimmered. Threads of unseen light — millions of them — reached out in every direction, invisible to the naked eye but radiant within Mason’s mind. They wove through stone, soil, air, even the lifeless remnants of the battlefield, converging upon the core of the NOVA. Each filament carried a hue of its own — scarlet, sapphire, emerald, gold — like a thousand veins of divine energy flowing into a single beating heart.

  Slowly, the Shade Drive pulsed to life.

  20%...

  30%...

  40%...

  50%...

  60%...

  70%...

  The hum deepened, and Mason opened his eyes just as Kat’s voice interrupted.

  “Incoming transmission — Fleet Command. Shall I patch it through?”

  “Affirmative,” Mason replied.

  The darkness before him fractured into the luminous image of a man.

  “Lord Marshal Voss,” Mason acknowledged. The Lord Marshall had an aged appearance, weathered by the merciless battering of time but not weakened by it; his gray hair framed a face carved by discipline, a single scar tracing from temple to jaw like a signature of survival. His uniform gleamed crimson and gold, medals gleaming across his chest, each with a story of its own.

  “Captain Mason,” the Lord Marshal greeted, his deep voice filled with both authority and weariness. “It seems the jammers are finally down. We have contact.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Mason answered, posture instinctively straightening.

  “Have you located your squadmates?”

  “Negative, sir,” Mason replied at once. “We were ambushed during atmospheric descent. LZ compromised. No contact since.”

  The Marshal’s expression hardened, but his tone remained measured. “Regrettable. Your first objective is to regroup and re-establish a forward front. The assault on the capital proceeds at dawn — six hours from now. I’m transmitting your rendezvous coordinates.”

  Data streamed across Mason’s HUD — new waypoints presenting themselves on his internal navigation.

  “Understood, Lord Marshal.”

  “Status of your sector?”

  “Minimal resistance, sir,” Mason replied. “Conscripts, small arms. However—” he paused briefly, “—I neutralized fourteen Fangs, four Annihilators, and one Juggernaut. No confirmed Shadian presence.”

  “Excellent,” said Voss. “Perhaps fortune smiles upon us tonight.”

  Mason chuckled faintly. “Sir, that’s what I told Kat. She disagreed.”

  The Marshal’s lips twitched in amusement. “AIs tend to lack faith. You have your orders, Captain. We’ll rendezvous at dawn. Good hunting.”

  The hologram dissolved. Mason was left in darkness once more — save for the soft glow of his interface.

  “No signals from the squad,” Kat reported moments later. “Surface communications remain jammed. Satellite uplinks only.”

  “Understood,” Mason murmured. “Then we move. Keep sensors primed, Kat. Any anomaly—”

  “You’ll know when I do.”

  A small smile flickered across Mason’s face. “Exactly.”

  The NOVA lurched forward, its titanic steps echoing across the war-scarred plain. Each stride carried it closer to the rendezvous point, its polished armor reflecting faint starlight. For a moment, the battlefield seemed calm — the lull before the next storm.

  Then Kat’s voice turned sharp.

  “Warning. Shade-based energy signatures detected. Range: 1.2 kilometers. Three confirmed.”

  Mason froze. His NOVA coming to an abrupt halt.

  “...Shadian threats?”

  “Affirmative.”

  His eyes hardened. “Show me.”

  The OSI’s vision magnified instantly, zooming toward the nearest ridge. There — silhouetted against the horizon — stood three figures draped in black cloaks. From his towering height, they looked small, insignificant, and fragile. Yet Mason knew better. Each one radiated power — the kind of power his entire NOVA had been designed to counter.

  “Can you confirm their Vigor ratings?”

  “C-Tier. All three.”

  Mason exhaled slowly. C-Tier. Manageable, he pondered.

  “Any active Kidokane signatures?”

  “Negative. No confirmed activation—”

  Three points of light ignited in the darkness — faint, ominous glows that cut through the black like tiny stars. Mason’s pulse quickened.

  One burned pale blue.

  Another, deep violet.

  The last, blood red.

  “Kat, identify Kidokane signatures.”

  “Analyzing... Only one of three found: Weapon type: Battle Axe. Affinity class: Ice. Weapon record matches the Battle of Boras. Last sighting: 134 years ago. No further information recorded.”

  “Well, one out of three isn’t bad,” Mason thought out loud. In a fight to the death, any information could change the course of battle.

  “Begin recording all signatures,” Mason ordered. “Feed data to archives.”

  “Affirmative, sir. Recording initiated.”

  Mason drew in a long breath, his focus narrowing to a single, razor-thin line of purpose.

  “Well,” he murmured, raising his massive sword. “We shouldn’t keep our guests waiting.”

  The NOVA raised its blade in salute, its edge faintly glowing as Vigor flowed from the recharged Shade Drive. And for a brief moment, even the night itself seemed to hold its breath.

  “Three C-Tiers,” Mason repeated. “And one B.”

  That one B was him.

  It wasn’t superiority he felt — only solemn acceptance.

  “I do not refuse a just challenge,” Mason further recited.

  This was what the Royal Knights were made for: to stand where ordinary men could not. To face demons in human form.

  The three figures on the hill didn’t move. They stood unwavering, cloaks rippling in the night wind. Mason felt the weight of their stares even through the kilometer of distance.

  The NOVA’s core thrummed, resonating with Mason’s heartbeat. Vigor coiled through its frame like the lifeblood flowing through his own body.

  “I do not turn from my enemy.”

  He brought the great sword down from its salute in a single sweeping motion.

  The ground fractured beneath his feet.

  Then—

  BOOM.

  The Royal Knight launched forward, a blinding streak of red and gold hurtling toward the hill and the three Malus Champions that waited for him in the all-consuming darkness.