As with ancient warriors who found their ranged weapons couldn't pierce the armor of their foes and closed so that they might let iron bite iron, so too did the combatants in Orochi Tower.
Mitsubachi and Templar met each other eye to eye.
Hand to hand.
Frank barely managed to turn aside the thrust of the Mitsubachi's estoc, the wickedly sharp point digging another small but painful wound into his left upper arm. He was already bleeding from half a dozen such wounds across his body where the swordsman's anima enhanced blade had taken pieces out of his body armor. None alone were fatal, but cumulatively they were sapping his strength and slowing him down.
Gritting his teeth as his ebon occultech plate was streaked again with crimson from his own fluids, Frank tried to ready his falcata for the next strike. Evie's most recent lessons meant his wrist control was better, and he'd been able to parry otherwise fatal blows, but he just couldn't manage to go on the offensive against his opponent.
The Mitsubachi warrior, who was in one of those anonymous streamlined uniforms that reminded Frank of aluminum foil, knew that the Templar couldn't manage it either. A mouth framed by dark tan skin quirked in a sneer, the rest of his features hidden by the helmet that looked like a piece from a 1950s B movie.
“You cannot beat me, mercenary,” he growled to Frank, his accent faintly Spanish to the Templar's ears.
Frank nodded back.
“Nope. Reckon I can't.”
The sneer broadening in triumph, the imbued agent of the Orochi Group prepared to thrust once more.
Before he could, however, Frank simply flipped his falcata to him. Momentarily confused, the Mitsubachi backed up, slapping away the forward pitching blade with his own. He recovered just quickly enough to see that Frank had drawn his P239.
Frank shot him through the visor.
As the man went down and went incorporeal, no doubt to be reformed near by as Frank and the others had quickly realized, Frank snorted.
“S'only way I can win a sword-fight,” he grumbled.
Shifting to a proper two handed grip on his pistol, Frank took stock of the situation.
The battle had started at range, as each team had sent a blizzard of solid shot and magic at one another from opposite ends of the large office space in 16 West. What little cover was still intact after the engagement with the drones was quickly reduced to splinters and chunks. The walls were stippled with bullet holes and blackened from fireball strikes. Soon each team was down to relying on each others healers for protective barriers.
As the two sides realized they'd never end the fight conclusively at distance, they closed in on each other, and the larger battle became several one on one scraps.
Off to his far left, Nigel Warrick clashed with a broad shouldered Mitsubachi who looked like she probably could have played linebacker for the Cowboys. She had injected herself with some kind of epipen as the melee began, and swung her heavy maul with unabated fury. Like some of the drones, the maul utilized a miniature, offensive version of the Orochi force field generators, giving the maul the ability to smash its way through any armor.
Several gaping holes in the drywall attested to the maul's efficacy. Two-handed blade and maul came together again and again, the maul sparking and humming with every blow. The pair were too close for Frank to risk a shot.
Transitioning quickly to the next set of combatants, Frank was forced to hold his fire yet again.
Amita was squaring off with a Mitsubachi wielding a matched set of hooked and energized khopesh blades (he'd been forced to discard his heavy rifle), answering the rapid slashes and chops with an ever changing array of Chaos magic. One blow was deflected by a hazy green dhal shield that changed to entangling chains even as the blade started to rebound. A twist of her wrist and Amita dragged the Mitsubachi's dominant blade away. The second was caught by a trio of claws made of emerald fire, and similarly parried aside. Claws rippled into a handcrossbow which Amita fired at point blank range, scoring a burning wound on her enemy's hip.
Snarling against the pain, the Mitsubachi twisted his body to plant a boot into Amita's chest. His aim wasn't true, but it forced her back and allowed him an opportunity to gather himself again. Once more Amita brought up claws wrought from Chaos fire to meet the oncoming flurry of khopesh blades. Frank had a few heartbeats to marvel at the ability of the two fighters before Amita made a slight misstep.
She had just slapped aside a series of blows with the claws and had shifted her position to avoid a furious overhand strike. It did miss her head as she moved.
The purring blade struck her elbow.
Orochi alphatech cut through Templar armor. Skin.
Bone.
Her right arm dropped to the floor as Amita shrieked in agony. Blood spurted from the wound as if from a pressure washer. As she collapsed, the green corposant around her remaining hand fizzling out as her focus was shattered, Frank brought his pistol up for a clear shot.
Amita's husband Donnie acted first.
He'd been dueling at a slightly longer distance with the Mitsubachi team healer, the two support troopers battering each others shields and barriers with various kinds of magic. With his wife screaming out, Donald Mitchell looked straight at the khopesh wielding Orochi.
The Orochi brought his blades high, preparing to face the new threat.
A powerful tide of blood magic simply turned him inside out.
Frank had a vague impression of a porcupine made of glistening internal organs and rib spurs before it vanished as his own opponent had. Before Donnie's opposite number could take advantage of his change of concentration, Frank emptied the magazine of the '239 into his chest, sending him corkscrewing down. A gurgling howl made him look back towards Nigel as he frantically reloaded the pistol.
Nigel had managed a Herculean sidways blow that had taken off the Mitsubachi's legs at the knees. Fountaining gore, the maul wielder flopped over, frothing at the mouth from whatever hideous alchemical cocktail was working through her system from the epipen, then she went still, fading into a golden mist as had her fellows.
The battered cell regrouped around Amita as Donnie swiftly arrested her bleeding. The whole time he hadn't made a sound—not when he tore Amita's attacker apart, not now as he staunched her wound with blood magic.
“Y-you need to push forward,” she managed through clenched teeth. Frank knew their occultech armor had autoinjectors with pain suppressants, but those had to be working overtime right now. Amita had managed, incredibly, to start channeling again, Chaos magic enveloping her hand like a burning glove.
“Push forward,” she said again. “Continue the mission. I'll be fine.”
Frank looked over at Nigel, who was staring down the length of the battered and debris littered room. He glanced back at Frank and shook his head slightly.
“Sorry,” murmured her husband as he worked. “Not going to happen.”
“Damnit! Just leave me here. At worst I'll just pop up again--”
“With respect, commander,” Nigel interrupted, “we don't know where you'll pop up again...and given this is Orochi Tower, we don't know if there isn't some bloody device that might prevent it all together...we might lose you.”
Amita glared balefully at the three men. Frank coughed a bit, moving to pick up the tossed falcata blade.
“I...order you--”
“Amita, you are the officer-in-charge of D Cell. You also happen to be my wife. I'm not leaving your side. You'll just have to file a report concerning my insubordination.” Donnie's words were soft, but firm as he worked, eyes lidded as a red film seemed to cover the wound, his magic working to heal her from the inside out. If given a few days, Bee regeneration would take care of the rest.
Her dark eyes flared dangerously.
“Fuck you, Donnie.”
“As soon as we get home, dearest.”
Tossing her head angrily, she looked from one to the other to the next in line. Frank rubbed a finger across his nose.
“Y'do remember how we're, uh, bad at followin' orders as a group, right? Y'kinda always been part of that, ma'am...”
“Shut up.”
“Yes'm. I'm shut.”
“Damn you all,” she hissed. “Fine. In that case, husband, help me get up. I can take those bastards one handed if I have to.”
“I know,” he answered, sounding sincere as he got her to her feet. Turning the green energy around her hand to a hand crossbow again, she shook her head, smirking at the others.
“I love you all, you know. But I'm still going to report your asses.”
“Naturally, mum.” Nigel readied the two handed sword, assuming a wide footed fighting stance. Frank whistled sharply as the Mitsubachi appeared once more at the other end of the room.
“Well, this oughta be fun,” grumbled Frank as he drew a bead on the leader...and then blinked in confusion as they backed off, suddenly hurrying in the other direction. He saw more than one hold a finger to the side of their helmet as they received a transmission.
And just like that, D Cell held the field. A graveyard of battle drones surrounded them now.
“What...th' actual fuck?” asked Frank to the air around him. Amita's lips compressed to a thin line as she willed the Chaos magic away.
“Simple, Frank. We suddenly became a lot less important.”
As one, the four friends and teammates looked at the ceiling, wondering what was transpiring above them in the upper levels of Orochi Tower.
