FanFic - DP/UF - Crossroads [22]

[MegaZone]

-------------------------------------------------------------TWENTY-TWO

"Let's toast the hero with blood in his eyes/The scars on his
mind took so many lives/Die hard the hunter"
--Def Leppard

The bridge doors sizzled, sparked with orange lightning
radiance, and then dissolved. Gryphon dove through, phaser's emitter
cone glowing, and Zoner was right behind him.
"Largo," Gryphon called across the vast chamber, his voice
echoing in the corners.
Largo turned, his eyes narrowing. "Ah, hello," he said with
his mocking grin. "I was just about to hunt you down and kill you.
Thank you greatly for saving me the trouble." He dropped the limp
figure in Fed Security armor he was holding by the throat--at this
distance, Gryphon couldn't tell who it had been--and started walking
toward Gryphon, cracking his knuckles one by one.
"Aren't you going to shoot me?" he asked as he approached.
"One quick shot and you'd vaporize me forever, and never have to worry
about me again."
"Can't," Gryphon replied. "The phaser's out of juice." He
threw it aside. "But then, I don't need it." He pressed a key on the
forearm guard of his CVR-5, and, with the gleam of a transporter
effect, a VR-152 Warrior Cyclone materialized next to him. He mounted
it, started it, and accelerated toward Largo; as the latter set
himself for combat, Gryphon punched the big blue key and, with a burst
of jump jets, transformed the Cyclone into combat mode.
Several steps back, MegaZone marveled at the neat manner in
which the Cyclone mated with the back of the CVR in such a manner as
to leave the hilts of the two swords exposed and unharmed. Apparently
Gryphon had designed the linkup routines just for that contingency.
Largo took three steps back and vanished into the turbolift.
Gryphon didn't even pause for the doors, and jetted down the shaft,
following his quarry's infrared signature. He burst out of the shaft
on a lower level, looked a round, and realized where he was.
It seemed ironic to Gryphon that the site of his first, last,
and only battle with Largo, the engineer of all his misery, should
take place in a Buma factory. A defunct Buma factory. He stood on
the catwalk, a hundred feet above the process floor, looking for his
quarry.
"Largo!" he bellowed, the amplifiers in his CVR-5 making his
voice boom into the far corners of the chamber. "Are you afraid?
Face me!"
"Afraid?" Largo's mocking voice echoed back. Gryphon tried to
pin it down, but he couldn't. With the Griffin's systems--no. Never
again. I swore. "Largo is afraid of nothing--least of all your
pathetic insignificance." The Hyper-Buma dropped to the catwalk
behind Gryphon and, before the latter could whirl around, had smashed
him off the catwalk with a mighty backhand.
The process floor rushed up at Gryphon from the right; he let
it come. Fuck it. There wasn't time to pull out and he wasn't going
to look like a damn fool trying. He slammed into the process floor,
demolishing a conveyor belt, and got to his feet, noting the cracked
armor plates on his left rear quarter and right shoulder and side.
The right arm was a little slow, and his right shoulder hurt. Big
deal. He turned, sighted, and fired off both left forearm missiles;
the plasma explosions vaporized a large section of catwalk. Largo was
gone; his laughter echoed through the plant.
"Your machine is insufficient for the job at hand," he mocked.
"A Cyclone? Against my might? I am unimpressed." He appeared from
the shadows in front of Gryphon, a good sixty feet distant. Snarling
with rage, Gryphon kicked in his boosterjets for the leap, drawing
back a fist.
The next thing he knew, he was on his back a hundred feet
behind his starting point. Something had slashed his right cheek and
his nose was smashed; blood was everywhere. The facebowl of his helmet
was destroyed; he was lucky to have his eyes.
"You are slow," Largo taunted. Suddenly he was behind
Gryphon, hoisting him up and plunging a fist into the Cyclone's
powerpack. Gryphon twisted like a madman, nearly snapping his spine,
whipping his left arm and connecting with Largo's temple; the Buma
hardly flinched at the full-power blow. Then the Cyclone went dead.
Gryphon set the self- destruct and ejected it into Largo's hands; the
fireball blew out that end of the process floor, trashed Gryphon's
CVR, and engulfed Largo.
Gryphon struggled to his knees, trying to get his vision to
focus. His CVR-5 was burned, blackened, and smoking; the blood on his
face was caked in soot and baked hard. The armor was gone on his
right upper arm, revealing raw, torn, burned flesh. The entire south
end of the factory floor was burning rubble.
Largo burst out of the rubble. He was a little sooty, but
other than that, nothing much seemed to have happened to him.
"Shit," Gryphon muttered, spat out some blood, and tried to
get to his feet. He couldn't get his head to stop spinning, and the
pain roaring at him from his face and arm was turning the edges of his
vision red. Angrily, he tried to block it. He was running out of
options.
"Pity," Largo said as he began walking slowly, evenly, toward
Gryphon. "If you had used that battlearmor of yours, this might have
been a somewhat close to fair fight...tell me, please, before you die,
why you didn't use it."
"Someone I cared for died in my arms, some years ago," Gryphon
rasped, "because I was working on that damned suit and didn't get
there in time to save her. From you. I swore I'd never use it again
after that."
"Me?" Largo asked, somewhat confused. "We have never met in
combat before."
"No, but we would have...on October 14th, 2333...if I hadn't
been working on that damned suit of toy armor."
"Oh." Largo tried to place the date, failed, and replied
simply, "Pity," with a mocking grin.
Gryphon was silent, standing defiantly, waiting to die. Over
Largo's shoulder, he could see Zoner, ReRob, Kei, and Yuri emerging
from the bashed-out turboshaft door.
"Goodbye," Largo continued, and punched Gryphon as hard as he
could in the chest.
Had Gryphon been slightly heavier, or anchored to the floor,
or struck at a slightly different angle, or standing in an area with
slightly higher air pressure, the punch would have had the desired
effect; Largo's fist would have come out the back of his armor,
covered with various bits of important organs like the heart.
However, he wasn't. The punch caved in the chestplate of his battered
CVR-5 and catapulted him the length of the process floor, where he
slammed into the wall, bounced, and fell face-first onto a large metal
rod, which proceeded to smash through the chestplate just below the
left collarbone. He hit the floor face-down, the bloody rod sticking
into the air like a flagpole.
"Ben!" Kei cried, starting to run to him.
Zoner grabbed her before she got more than a few steps. "This
is his fight, let him do it on his own. If Largo did to me what he
did to Ben, I'd want to kick his ass myself too."
Kei didn't seem very convinced, but she stopped struggling
against Zoner's grasp.
Largo smiled and turned around. Not the effect he had been
trying for, but a most satisfying one nevertheless. Now all that
remained was to deal with the rest of these idiots and then wipe the
last of the Wedge Rats from existence at his leisure.
Something metallic scraped behind Largo. He turned to see
Gryphon struggling to his knees, then to his feet. Blood was flowing
steadily from the corner of his mouth and both nostrils. Pure hate
burned in his eyes; his bloody teeth were gritted, his upper lip
curled in a snarl.
"Still alive, human? Still fighting? You should have died
while you were ahead." Largo began strolling unhurriedly back toward
Gryphon to finish the job; after all, Gryphon wasn't going anywhere in
a hurry.
Gryphon's gloved right hand grabbed the protruding end of the
metal rod and yanked it out, barely flinching; he spat some blood,
then tossed the rod aside.
"You know, Largo," he said, his throat raw from smoke and
heat, "I swore once I'd never do this again...but for you, I'll make
an exception. To deal with you, I think she'd understand." He closed
his eyes.
Blue lightning flickered over him, forming rapidly into scan
lines; the grid began to form something, a shape, bulky and angular--
"You!" Largo whispered, his eyes widening.

<<< Queen: Gimme the Prize (Kurgan's Theme) >>>

Detail and color flooded sizzling in, and standing before
Largo, gleaming and new, was the GRF-S4N Griffin IV Super-Heavy Combat
Hardsuit. Zoner, up on the catwalk, pulled up short, his eyes
widening--he'd seen the suit before, but it wasn't the old Griffin
armor. The old GRF-3N had been shiny blue metal, bulky and covered
with sharp angles, with a wide facebowl helmet and an enormous
backpack of flight jets and microfusion plant. This suit was entirely
different, but familiar. The helmet was designed in the old Griffin
style, but it was solid metal--it must run, Zoner thought, by VR or
in-helmet projection, or a combination of both. The style was
slightly less angular, and a bit more compact and powerful. The
trademark armor baffles on the shoulders and knees were still there,
but the flight jets were in a compact, folded package on the back with
sustainer jets on the backs of the calves, there was no visible bulge
of a powerplant, and the huge particle cannon that was its main weapon
was streamlined and angular, with a guard that ran back and covered
the entire left hand.
The right arm ended in a powerful gauntlet, just as before,
and the forearm guard extended over the back of the hand, studded with
small knobby protrusions; on the inside arc of the forearm guard, cut
back along the heel of the hand, were three small muzzles. The whole
thing was painted in a clean white, the "facebowl" was black, and most
important trim was silver. There were smears of something red on the
chest and arms--Zoner thought it was blood. The suit must have been
bloody when he put it away last; it's been in stasis ever since, on
the chip, he thought. The swords were still there, grips poking out
of the thruster pack. All this Zoner took in, and that wasn't what
was so remarkable about it. It was the fact that he recognized the
suit, had seen it on the news and commented to himself on its
resemblance to the Griffin suit. He focused his eyes on the helmet,
zooming in on it, and saw exactly what he had expected.
Printed in small letters along the upper edge of the black
"facebowl" were the words:

K N I G H T S A B E R S

"I'll be damned," MegaZone whispered. "It was you."
Gryphon gasped as the suit's medicomp assessed his condition
and shot large amounts of stimulants, endorphins, and regen boosters
into his system. Pain spiked to a silvery high, then vanished;
fatigue evaporated. All that was left now was the rage.
"You," Largo repeated. Then he threw back his head and
laughed. "How ironic! You were one of the great thorns in my side,
and I never even knew who you were. I should have guessed you would
make your way to me and make yourself a problem again, but you know,
it never even occurred to me!" He laughed again. "So it seems not
only the legacy of Wolfgang Fahrvergnugen follows me around, but that
of Katsuhito Stingray as well! No matter. You're still a pulped mess
inside that suit. Die!" He drew out a laser blade and leaped to the
attack.
There was a deafening sound, a combination of the crackle of
energized particles, the thump of superheated air, and the crash of a
thunderclap. A blinding, crackling bolt of lightning streaked across
the factory. The smell of ozone and burned Bumaflesh filled the air.
The laser blade pinwheeled gaily across the room, clattering off the
wall and rolling across the floor.
Largo and his right hand hit the floor separated by ten feet.
The Hyper-Buma got to his feet, looking down at the charred stump that
was once his right wrist, and snarled. This wasn't the first time this
kind of thing had happened to him.
"I'd say it's about time you learned that the Griffin is more
than just a legend," Gryphon said, and charged.
Largo ducked aside, but the suit was fast, as fast as he was.
The last generation of hardsuits had been painfully powerful, he
recalled, and wondered how much this man's innovations had to do with
that. He was grazed by the right fist as it passed with the force of
a speeding semi truck, sending him staggering back a couple of steps.
Gryphon fired his reaction jets, stopping on a dime and pivoting to
face Largo, who was idly amused by the fact that the flight boosters'
location and configuration, in the back and lower legs of the suit,
mirrored his own Buma's designs. Then he put his mind back to the
business at hand.
Gryphon closed in, slowly, inexorably; with a clatter of
unlatching lock plates, the PPC came loose, and he discarded it.
Largo suddenly wished he had his Sol satellite back. He could no
longer see Gryphon's eyes, but he could feel the pain and hate burning
in them right through the metal faceplate, or at least imagined that
he could. Gryphon's right arm came up, the little knobs on its upper
surface glittering in the harsh arclights of the factory floor. Then,
as he came within arm's reach, he struck. Largo tried to dodge, but
too slowly; the punch took him in the lower left abdomen, and he felt
a ripping concussion as two of the lower ribs were blown out.
"That was for Linna," Gryphon said. "And this is for Sylvie."
He raised the arm, then, and fired the center railgun. On a good day,
long ago, Largo had caught one of these railgun spikes out of the air
and then cast it back, impaling its firer through the shoulder.
Today, though, he tried to intercept it with his right hand, before
remembering that the hand in question was no longer part of his body,
and it was his turn to take the foot-long shaft of metal through his
shoulder. He staggered as the Hyper-Buma equivalent of pain, damage
estimates, began flooding in. Then, marshalling his strength, he took
two steps backward and then sprang into the air in a flying forward
kick.
Steel fingers clamped around his ankle with incredible
strength and speed, and he was flying through the air and meeting a
wall face-to-face. More damage estimates came in as his nose was
smashed. He turned, trying to get the world to stop spinning, as six
Gryphons advanced on him again; before he had a chance to recover,
they had all said, "That was for Anri," and then delivered a
tremendous punch to his gut that doubled him over. "That was for me."
Gryphon lifted Largo into the air by the throat and held him
high overhead. Regaining some of his senses, Largo brought his hand
down on Gryphon's elbow, forcing the arm to bend and denting the
armor; as his feet met the floor, he kicked, catching Gryphon in the
abdomen and driving him back a couple of steps, breaking his grip.
Then, taking the offensive, he charged and tackled his armored
opponent.
Gryphon got the heel of his left hand under Largo's chin and
levered him back as the Hyper-Buma's own hand sought the junction of
his helmet and shoulders (the Griffin suit had no neck per se, instead
relying on the three-layer swivel in the helmet-shoulder piece
junction). They remained that way, locked together in straining
combat, for several seconds before Gryphon got his feet up under
Largo's chest and kicked him away, firing the leg thrusters in the
process. Largo got to his feet a dozen or so meters away, tearing
away the burning remains of his tunic. His surprise had gone, and he
knew his opponent's strengths now. He was confident that the battle
would go better now.
Gryphon sent three more railgun spikes his way as he executed
a booster charge; one of them caught him in the left thigh, the other
two missed, and then they were together again with a ringing crash.
"For Celia and her father." Largo felt a wall hit his back, and then
part, and they were through into the next compartment over. Zoner,
Rob, Kei, and Yuri got down from the catwalk and ran across the
process room, not wanting to miss anything. The battle could turn
round at any moment, and they wanted to be able to help Gryphon if he
needed it.
Gryphon needed help, indeed, but he was getting it from his
hardsuit. He could feel ribs sliding round, but it didn't
particularly bother him, and he was quite certain that his arm was
broken where Largo had hit it, but the armor kept moving, so it didn't
matter all that much. Pain was everywhere, but that was all right.
Pain was an old friend of Gryphon's. He got a hand around Largo's
throat and forced him away again, then drew back his left fist.
"This is for Kei," he said, and punched the Hyper-Buma as hard
as he could. "This is for Yuri," he said, and repeated the maneuver.
"This is for Zoner." Once more. "And for Rob." Again. "And
Deedlit." Again. "And anyone else who's suffered because of you."
Pow. Largo's head lolled for an instant, but then the Buma recovered,
and Gryphon dropped him before he could hit his arm again. Largo
roared in rage and tried to tackle Gryphon, but the latter executed a
picturesque roundhouse kick that drove his adversary back several
dozen meters. He pressed his advantage, closing the gap with a
screaming booster jump that became a flying wheel kick, a somersault,
and a landing that found Gryphon on one knee, facing his enemy. Largo
tackled Gryphon again, sending him back against the wall, his thumb
prying at the juncture of helmet and shoulders again. Gryphon's arms
hung limp at his sides; escaping Largo's notice, a foot-long blade
extended from under his left hand.
"And this is for Nene," Gryphon grated, and rammed the blade
up under Largo's sternum as hard as he could. Largo's world exploded
in red as the damage reports flooded his cortex; the main circulating
pump was damaged, and several backups inoperative. 77% systems
failure all the way across the board. The main circ pump went
completely out as Gryphon forced the blade deeper, higher, lifting
Largo right off him as the Buma's grip slackened, and alarmed sensors
warned Largo of a 45% nutrient fluid loss, and rising rapidly.
Gryphon held his impaled foe aloft for a second before throwing him
off the blade and across the room, to slam into the opposite wall
fifty meters distant. By the time Largo regained a semblance of
consciousness and struggled to his feet, Gryphon was right in front of
him.
The armored Wedge Rat reached over his right shoulder with his
left gauntlet and drew one of the swords that hung there from its
built-in scabbard; Largo forced his eyes to focus on it. It was a
katana, a very well-made one, with a simple eelskin grip and an
intricately carved guard showing a serpent eating its own tail. His
still-operative sensor suite analyzed the mass and density of the
blade in a quarter-second and informed him that the metal had been
folded over 200 times. It was also extremely old, fourteenth century
at least.
"This sword is a thousand years old," Gryphon said then,
confirming his estimate. "It and its companion are the only remaining
artifacts of the once-great warrior house of Asagiri, of Terran Japan.
It was given to me by that family's last surviving member in 2333, in
Mega Tokyo, on New Japan in the Enigma Sector, shortly before her
death from injuries suffered at your hands. This...this is for her."
He took the blade in a two-handed grip, touched its point to the side
of Largo's neck, and drew it back. Largo tried to ready himself to
dodge, but his body would not obey his commands. His cybersystems
indicated to his vision a 99% systems failure before going totally
offline and leaving him with unaugmented vision--and even that was
starting to flicker and fade.
"There can be only one!" Gryphon shouted, and brought the
ancient sword around with all his might. There was a heavy chopping
sound; the blade glittered as its fine steel edge shed orange Buma
blood in a thick arc across the wall. Zoner, ReRob, and the Lovely
Angels climbed through the hole in the wall just in time to see
Largo's head fly free of his body, bounce twice, and roll to a halt,
as Gryphon stood with his left arm fully extended, the gleaming katana
outstretched and still dripping orange blood. Then it clattered to
the floor as Gryphon sank to his knees, exhausted.
"Aww.... You let the smoke out," Zoner balefully observed.
"Ben!" Kei shouted, kneeling before him and grabbing his
shoulders as Zoner and Yuri pushed Largo's body aside. He sagged
against her, the armored suit really not all that heavy, and then
reached up with his left hand and unlatched his helmet, letting it
fall away. His face was a mess of blood and sweat streaks, and his
eyes were sunken and hollow from burnout, but he was smiling, weakly.
"Always...wanted...to say that," he confided, and then his
eyes closed and he fell fully against her.
She just knelt there and held him, until the rest of the WDF
forces arrived and reported the bridge secured. Then they took him to
WarpZone and flew him back to the Concordia, reasoning that he'd
probably want to be cared for by his own doctor.