Tera: Ascendance

By Jon Murdoch

Millennia ago, we lost Earth. Forgotten to time, and remembered only through tales of the three Masters. Leading a new breed into the future. Their followers and kin learn well from their history, enveloping themselves into their Masters’ words and the lives they once lived. The very origin of their world, once country.
Now, on the planet Tera, its citizens have one of the most advanced civilizations, touting energy manipulation and advanced warfare. If only they were to be left to their own desires, perhaps they could evade the inevitability of war.
Terarians stand as a lone bastion, a sole force against unfathomable opposition. How could one rebel planet hope to survive against hundreds of alien allies, and their god? Overwhelming power, and a touch of magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665549226

Jon Murdoch

Jon Murdoch was always good at making stuff up, building stories from nothing on a whim. A few characters started from simple inspiration, from various media during his school days, growing into a small world. Years later, while on post overseas, he decided to spread that imagination to paper, cementing his desire to write. Ten years of building from that first attempt and that single world bloomed into a vast universe.

Book preview

TERA

ASCENDANCE

JON MURDOCH

61119.png

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

©

2022 Jon Murdoch. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/17/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4924-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4923-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4922-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022900542

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Interior Image Credit: Daria Gorbacheva

Interior Image Credit: Jon Murdoch

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Tera

Chapter 2 Class Begins

Chapter 3 Upgrades

Chapter 4 Unnecessary Interruptions

Chapter 5 Gunrunning

Chapter 6 Meet Impact

Chapter 7 Dismissed

Chapter 8 Predominant Illiberality

Chapter 9 Sacrifice, or Liberation?

Chapter 10 Deities or Laws

Chapter 11 Dubious Attire

Chapter 12 New Horizon

Chapter 13 Delicious!

Chapter 14 Avowal of Primacy

Chapter 15 Elevated Ordnance

Chapter 16 What’s Our Target?

Chapter 17 Questionable Desires

Chapter 18 Diagnostic

Chapter 19 Devising Intent

Chapter 20 Reap the Flames

Chapter 21 Call Down the Thunder

Chapter 22 That Doesn’t Belong Here

Chapter 23 Fancy Arsenal

Chapter 24 Vacation

Chapter 25 Old Memories

Chapter 26 Welcome, Brothers

Chapter 27 No Time for Games

Chapter 28 Now it’s Time for Games!

Chapter 29 Lost in Thought

Chapter 30 Danger Close

Chapter 31 Duly Noted

Chapter 32 Promotion

Chapter 33 Takeoff

Chapter 34 First Contact

Chapter 35 Traitor

About the Author

CHAPTER 1

TERA

Lecture one, capital planet Tera.

Earth year 9062.

A hidden lecturer stands in the shadows as he projects images that accompanies his message.

Earth. The birthplace of our precursors. A once-shining light in the universe. A melding pot of haphazard species flung together. Among all mutations and evolutions, humans stood the test of time. However, their greatest flaw was their creators. The influence of these divine creatures led them to their own destruction.

They not only learned from these beings but took after them as well, devoting prayer and unadulterated love to their chosen gods. Some returned in kind, gifting strength, weapons, or valuable tools to aid their species further. However, humans were still incredibly young, and this was a part of the divine beings’ intentions.

Humans grew over time but slowly declined with age. They became a plague to Earth, spreading destruction and disease, leaving their original home dilapidated. Not only did they carve out its resources, but they ravaged the landscape with fruitless wars, killing each other over the strict belief that their divine was the only true god. Now, we may not have been much better, but at least we created new land and fought only to protect ourselves—to a point, of course. Sometimes you must settle an argument by striking first.

Those of Tera, our beautiful home, set a low standard for its fellow and former species. We allowed them supplies and trade while they refrained from attacking us—a generous offer, given they could not properly use even the antiquated technology we gave them. However, to no one’s surprise, many could not resist trying to take more. We always returned with deadly sustained force while remaining peaceful in the end.

We, the Teranians, are currently one of the most advanced and politically uncorrupt government systems in the universe. While now we are closer to a monarchy, our roots were much more scattered. On Earth we held elections and chose our leaders as many others did, and our perfectly harmonized civilization was more than two hundred years ahead of any other county. To this day, we are vastly superior in all fields of technological advances compared to most alien life; however, Tera was not always perfect. In the Irish Revolution in 2048, a society known as Terraformers, or Creators of Earth, bent on building better land for the world, revolted. Seceding themselves from the island, they separated their borders, cutting their part of the land away from mainland Ireland and drifting off between the United Kingdom and Greenland. They named their new home Tera after the Latin word for earth or land.

Their knowledge of land creation enabled them to amass great wealth by selling artificial islands to countries seeking refueling platforms or small forts. With their wealth, they were able to buy and trade supplies with ease, but they had no defense against outside forces. They were scientists and engineers at first, not warriors.

They hired mercenaries to protect their shores, yet they could not shake the concern within their minds. Fearing an eventual hostile takeover, Tera started designing weapons. They decided to make something superior to other weaponry, but their earliest attempts were disastrous. Because they were building these weapons for the sake of their own safety, not for crime or money, they sought only the best. Practice made perfect, and with time they were able to create the first functioning handheld rail gun.

These mercenaries knew the exact capabilities of such a weapon and Tera attempted to keep them in check, although those mercenaries still wished to maintain their positions. The mercenaries had grown accustomed to the seclusion of an island. Having been initially welcomed, they were deterred from departing the island. The silence from war was more than enough to soothe their chaotic minds.

Eventually, thirty-eight years later, Tera manufactured and sold a number of the less-advanced weapons in their arsenal. This raised their revenue to a new level, enabling Tera to finally produce their own military. Automated machinery assembled everything they needed, and they were able to focus on training their children; and so the mercenaries were no longer necessary.

Of course, some could blame the brutality of early Tera on movies or virtual games, but we believe it was caused by their fear. Their young were subject to intense training. Tera needed the best for their own defense; they could not lose everything they had worked for. Starting from infancy, the children were conditioned to fight in the worst of scenarios, often beating each other to near death. Their training resembled that of the late Spartans, resulting in their bodies being destroyed a bit every time. They were given little rest, and a hardened resolve improved their recovery rates.

They perfected all forms of military education: swimming, wrestling, close-quarter combat, even the handling of firearms and explosives. They were dragged through every season the planet could offer. Their limbs were frozen by the black bite of winter; their skin was scorched red with the intense flame of summer.

The rulers of Tera did not merely acquire an arsenal; they created advanced medication as well. Many of the intellectuals of Tera easily transitioned into genetics and physiology. It did not take long for them to make their first leap forward: genetic engineering. Imperfections in children were immediately cured, allowing no room for disabilities.

At the age of thirteen, each child was given a choice: learn all the knowledge their predecessors had known or become true warriors. Those who became warriors went through an even more rigorous hell, occasionally being tortured by being lacerated, stabbed, and shot, transforming them into perfect fighters who knew only combat and survival. When their final course was completed—often when they were still teenagers—they were permitted to join the Talons. The others could become Scribes who maintained the vast scientific fields that their military needed. They were mechanics, hackers, and even astronauts. Usually, a Scribe would study one field, mastering it over time. Very seldom did an expert of their chosen trade retire from the ranks.

Those lowly mercenaries knew their time had run out, yet they obviously did not want to leave. Many had raised families there. However, people that were not of Teranian descent were not permitted any longer, with only a few exceptions. They were given a few months’ notice to vacate the island, as their services were no longer necessary. Those who were lucky enough to have married into the bloodline were given citizenship, and Teranians were not so unforgiving as to simply cast the others away. We offered many boons to those forced out, but they allowed their hubris to take over their reason and instead rose against us.

Tera’s first war, Ionradh Sa Bhaile, was a rebel home invasion committed by the mercenaries. It did not last nearly as long as the rebels had hoped, yet they were allowed to try their hand against Tera’s new technology. Many that were former military had grown old; others were punks or novice sell-swords looking for easy cash. Nothing could have prepared them for such failure. Their attempt only gave rise to further scrutiny. Outsiders and foreigners were immediately detained and deported, even those who had married Teranians. The war lasted only three weeks; the fight ended within their hearts the first. Many of the rebels hid within Tera’s borders, leading to weekly search parties. This war allowed Teranians to further themselves and bolster their defenses so no others could challenge them again.

Every great country that rises in power becomes a great force to be reckoned with. With each great force comes an elite unit. The Russians had the Spetsnaz, Britain had the SAS, the USA had their Navy Seals, Army Rangers, and Marines. Tera had nothing but the Talons. However, the Talons were unlike any modern military force on Earth; they used close-range weaponry such as blades and wore exceptionally durable armor built to repel small arms’ fire. They would rush in after deployment, blitzing the enemy into submission. Even with limited skirmishes, Tera’s warriors surpassed fighters from other countries with ease.

However, this did not put them at rest. Tera wanted something better: soldiers with the greatest devotion and ability. They needed an even more elite force of their own. With this in mind, they devised the Spectre program, which created genetically enhanced, augmented, and rebuilt super Talons. Because of their augmentation and skin refraction, these new soldiers were forced to make a life commitment; separation with this technology was not an option. Yet this offer came with many perks, some of which still exist.

The Talons enjoyed close-range weapons, especially blades. To close in and confirm the death of your foe was much easier without the use of firearms. They needed a material strong enough, durable enough, and flexible enough to protect their fighters in close quarters. An ingenious idea developed: something must exist deeper within the earth. So, they dug and found their quarry—ore mined twenty kilometers below the crust. Now they had exactly what they needed; a new metal they called Teranium.

With their focus on close-quarters combat, the Talons needed armor that would protect them further. Thus began the development of a more enhanced metal, properly named Teranium Alloy. The Alloy’s composition was a national secret; only the Scribe in charge of development knew its formula.

Teranium Alloy was nigh impenetrable; it could barely be dented by an A1 Abrams’ 120-millimeter cannon. Using the latest in stealth technology, the armor could be virtually invisible, unable to be seen by the naked eye or thermal vision. Plastering emitters disrupted the wavelength of light across the armor’s surface, warping reality around the suit itself. The helmet had heads up display capabilities as well and could project to Spectres their own vitals and target locations. Later upgrades included ammo count, squad health, and map services.

Fitted with short-wave frequencies, they were able to communicate with any other Spectre within range, and eventually any across the globe without a bulky radio. Thermal, night, and day sights allowed them to see their targets in any situation; their thermal sight allowing them to pick up radiation waves emitted by targets. This magnified their vision past other hot objects to see through obstacles, much like an x-ray. To protect the Spectres’ identity, they had voice distortion units in their helmets, turning them into something only man could fear. Early speculation meant to keep Spectres beneath the radar but no one expected the outcome to have such a lasting impact on their society.

Their desire for bladed weaponry led to Kaiser gauntlets, paper-thin hafnium carbonitride layers mixed with their new Alloy. These gauntlets consisted of two collapsing, retractable, three-foot blades supported by a thermal current that conducted heat over three thousand degrees Celsius. They were demonically devastating weapons able to cut through depleted uranium plates and composite armor. The blades’ folding capabilities created tight packages of mayhem within the gauntlets, ready to be deployed at will.

Tera’s developers, at first, invested all their efforts into protection and durability without realizing the armor could not be worn without severe weight issues or impact costs. A square plate of the metallic alloy thirty centimeters long and five centimeters thick by itself weighed over forty-five kilos. After it was fashioned into multiple plates that covered the body, the armor weighed roughly 240 kilos. Even the strongest of Talons could not test the armor out properly.

They sought a solution to this problem, a way to mobilize the armor and reduce the strain on their military. What was their solution? They mechanized the armor by implementing servo motors in the joints and actuators in the frames that enabled the armor to move slightly. It could support its own weight and give users a slight increase in their carrying capacity.

The next problem was a power source. Nothing they had at that time could support the demand of the helmet and armor together, at least not while the wearer was mobile. In order to get such small meticulously autonomous parts and electronics to function properly, the energy had to be perfectly calculated, and the feed had to be precise. With this halt in the armor development, they closed the Spectre program, leaving the prototype armor to collect dust.

The existence of the armor became a legend that slowly died into obscurity, forgotten by most of those who had worked on it. Finally, thirty-five years later, a child by the name of Kylest Valemty was born. He was raised by one of the original armor developers and heard during his entire childhood about the forgotten armor. As he watched the Talons who protected him, he vowed to finish the armor—not for his safety, but for their continued survival and their longevity.

During his twenty-third year of life, Kylest discovered micro-fusion by researching nuclear radiated substances. Over time, these objects produced energy from the decay of radioisotopes. As the radioactive substances decayed, they released charged particles that, when harvested, created an electrical current. Harvesting this current into a nuclear battery, he perfected the power source that would eventually power the forgotten armor. His discovery reopened the Spectre program, and he was put in full charge of development. It was fitting that the charge should be passed on to him. If only his father had lived to see it finished.

Upon beginning the resurrection of the armor, Kylest found it was outdated and needed serious remodeling. Adding inertia compensators and a high-flow hydraulic system into the suit, he made it easier to operate while it protected the user inside from a shock wave. With the advancement of mechs and vehicles, it also required an advanced loadout. Additional hardpoints were placed on the rig, enabling an increased arsenal and a thicker bulwark. A suitable power source enabled this increase in weight, placing it near half a tonne. The miniature reactor that was embedded within the back remained the most protected area of them all.

He also devised a naming protocol for all Talons accepted into the Spectre program. Their names would resemble those of an unorthodox figure, such as Plague or Famine. Even the inventions he would perceive kept this terrifying nomenclature, but it did give some shock value.

The following year, 2145, marked the first time the suit was used in the field. They found only one problem, a minor one at that. The micro-fusion battery created such an output of energy that the suit vented green fumes. The seams around the reactor leaked wildly, and Kylest thought of only one solution—vent the fumes into a safe and productive area.

The eyes of the helmet were the perfect spot, or so he specified. As the fumes purged, they drifted up and away from the user and his breathing apparatus without hindering his vision. When they first tested the suit after the fumes had been redirected, the Chief Commander of the Talons was shocked. His fear of the suit as the room went pitch black was visible. I never thought a demon like so could be borne by our hands alone! he said. For when you stare into the void. Sometimes, it stares back.

Most people in life must consider their futures. Given the chance, would any of you accept benign, if absolute, servitude? Not slavery, of course. No one is a slave to destiny, but try a pact, one that absorbs your life. Some might say that would be the same as a deal with the devil.

What if it gave you sovereignty to exceed limitations beyond all others? You sacrifice your life yet gain purpose. Would you still say no? That was the very question each member of the Spectre program was given, by their own hands.

With the suit completed and the weapons ready, officials looked for their first candidate. They wanted a Talon who had no fear and was consumed by pure commitment and dedication, and the ability to forget his past. A training operation was permitted, pitting Talons against one another in combat. It was fitting that they would orchestrate a grand tournament and then accept anyone who could claim the top position. Only one would be accepted, though, and the only rule was the winner must stave off death.

Through this competition, the top brass obtained their soldier, for only one remained standing, bloody and proud. He was Azuriel Cthal, a twenty-seven-year-old raised by a high-ranking Talon officer. Impressed by his performance, they inducted him into the program. They saw it fit that he be given the first name to lead all Spectres. Henceforth, he was their love, their devotion, their Pride.

However, they had one more test waiting for him. Simply proving himself stronger than the rest of the ruffians stood no ground. Upon completing this nearly impossible mission, he would be given his new armor, weapon, and name. His former life would be forgotten as all documentation of his existence would be destroyed. Only then could he lead this new elite force into the dominating force it is now.

The lecturer pauses and takes a few steps out of the darkness. "And who am I to any of you? I’m sure all of you do know who I am by now. But just for posterity … He turns aside and unlatches his helmet. A hissing sound issues forth as pressure is released and the helmet shuts down. I am your master, Pride."

CHAPTER 2

CLASS BEGINS

With Pride’s ending sentence the lights in the large classroom come on. Promising young trainees quietly stare, taking in every detail spoken. As they sit there, silently listening, Pride looks around surveying their attentiveness. Several dozen eyes glare back at him waiting for his next words. It would appear you all enjoyed this little bit of our history.

The three-meter-tall Titan stands forth, eclipsing every other body and mind in attendance. His suit is of deadly black trimmed with brightly glowing hues of blue. His calm yet powerful aura captivates the room, even if it is undetectable to the naked eye. Augmented eyes capture every image, translating thousands of strings of data across his interpreted vision. Every word spoken speaks with absolute authority, not in volume or by demand, but with justly acquired reverence.

So … who here can tell me when the suit was first used? He smirks with a raised eyebrow. More than half the class members raise their hands, eager to answer. Pointing, Pride chooses only one student at the back of the classroom.

The children lower their hands as the chosen one stands, reporting to his master Initiate Bemka, seven oh five Training Regiment. He pauses for a moment thinking to himself, Uhm … If I may? Pride nods in approval, giving permission for the answer to be given. Which instance do you speak of, Master Pride? The first time in combat or first time tested?

Pride chuckles and gives another nod. In the field.

The child pauses and stutters. E-earth year 2145.

Pride waves his hand for the child to sit. Correct. He begins to pace the stage he stands on. And who is the creator of the Mark-2 Draycon Plate? Several of the children look back and forth to each other in confusion; only a handful raise their hands. Pride’s smirk fades at the lack of volunteers. He twirls his hand in disregard as he points at a random child. The child sits there for a moment as Pride looks at him and cocks an eyebrow, still pointing at him.

Fumbling over his own legs as he bolts up, the child breaks into sweat. Initiate Stere, twenty-nine-nine Training Regiment. His young eyes perk up with conviction as he answers, Would it be Scribe Kylest, Master Pride?

Pride nods to him and slowly waves his hand down. Now … He pauses for a moment. … perhaps my questions are a little confusing. He shrugs. I will admit I tend to forget the difference between quizzing children and interrogating adults. Pride looks down and sways his head from side to side in a relaxing motion. How about I let a few of you ask questions you might have? Stopping his pacing, he centers up to the class, folding his arms. Do any of you have questions before we continue?

Several hands shoot up and others slowly rise. Pride points to one of the more anxious students.

Master Pride, you said Mark-2 Draycon plate earlier.

Pride frowns. Yes … and?

The child looks up. Wh-which suit do we use now?

As if to show his armor off, Pride puffs out his chest and pulls back his Plexi-cloth tasset. This would be the Mark-13 AST Plate. The room fills with quiet oohs and aahs as the child still stands. Did I answer your question, child?

Shaking his head softly the child responds, AST …

Pride cuts him off, answering his question quickly. Assault shock trooper, used in accordance with our drop pods. I personally have the thirteenth model, though the appearance has not changed much. As he lowers down his tasset he continues, "our standard troops use the twelfth model, and each master has his own unique suit. Especially Master Wrath. Pride lifts an arm in front of him, curved as if to show off a wristwatch. Mine is obviously specified to my shape and is bolstered with increased protective capabilities. His is counteroffensive based and integrated."

A flash of light pulsates within his wrist, and blue tendrils of light slither out. Four magnets shoot out instantaneously into four corners, violently vibrating in the air with a dire warble. A soft yet forceful salvo resonates throughout the building, even without an explosive. The tendrils jolt out, connecting to each magnet while projecting forth a wall of energy.

Pride stands calmly as a tower shield of aqua light stands before him, letting loose a buzzing cry of plasma-like electricity. The entire class stands stunned, awe-struck with this never-before-seen modification. Several students quickly make sketches but are unable to fully grasp it in time. Just as rapidly as its arrival, the tendrils vanish from existence. All four magnets clink back to his armor, melding into its frame.

The children quickly catch their bearings with the noticeable metallic chime. With their minds back to reality, another child reports to Pride and asks her question. Master Pride, what you said at the end of this section … about how this Azuriel guy was the first …

Pride looks at her with content, curious as to what she wants to ask.

The child continues, You said he was given the code name Pride. However, your name is Pride. Was Azuriel your ancestor?

He faces away from the class and lets out a little chuckle. No. No, my child. I am Azuriel Cthal. As he flips a couple pages in an ancient history book, the students begin to murmur rather loudly.

The young girl pauses at his answer, holding a hand to her chest. But … that’s impossible. Life expectancy of Teranians is only five hundred years.

Turning back around, he sighs, that is true, but it is not impossible to live longer.

Another child stands in a rush and speaks out: Master Pride, if that was true then … He does a little math in his head. … that would make you over seven thousand years old! The sound in the classroom turns from a light murmur into a boisterous uproar when the students hear this. Pride walks to a desk and plops into the metallic chair. It creaks under his weight. He folds his hands behind his head and kicks his feet up onto the desk. Yes, I know. Don’t remind me. He rolls his eyes with a hint of sarcasm.

The room quiets for a moment as another child pitches in, Master Pride, if we may? How is that possible?

His eyes close as he sits laid back. Cerebral body transplant.

Tilting his head to the side, the child scratches his head. A brain transplant?

Pride nods, his eyes still closed. The brain can live longer with enough genetic engineering, augmentations, and chemical balancers.

Standing wide eyed with confusion the child asks, Would you mind explaining that to us, Master Pride? The clamor dies down quickly as the children turn their attention to him.

Pride opens his eyes for a moment before slowly closing them again. I could somewhat, but it’s not in order for this lesson. It would take quite some time to explain it all, and in all honesty, it’s more Envy’s specialty now.

The children’s faces turn from excitement to disappointment in a flash as his words crush their spirit. With his head hung the child quietly sits.

You have combat training tomorrow; it would be more beneficial to learn about how effective our original suits were. Pride raises a finger to the air. Knowledge and understanding start at the base and grow forward! If you all wish to one day use what our most elite have, then you need to understand every capability it has starting from its earliest design. As his hand lowers back down, he slightly rocks, nearly breaking the chair. "You will learn what ground you can test your skills on, then it will be amplified by your own plate. Just as Master Wrath has instructed countless times, even to me." A cold breeze passes forth as all the children listen, even if they are still unsatisfied.

Lightly clearing his throat, Pride makes his ultimate point. You start with training gear, and as you grow, you will fit into our more inclusive armor types. Once you understand how our inventory works with your body and chosen augments, you might be able to handle energy use as well. Yet the children still remain saddened by his refusal. To get a jump start on their tutoring and skip part of the history was uncommon. Though they have truly covered a decent amount thus far.

Pride opens an eye and sighs, standing up after rocking out of his chair. I suppose I could integrate it into the lesson. A quiet yay is heard among the children in the classroom as they lean in. His grumpy demeanor hides behind his actual desires. Well, after the rulers of Tera had their chosen candidate for the Spectre program, they decided I was still unqualified for the Mark-2. Clearing his throat, he walks to the center of the stage and nods for the lights to be dimmed. Of course, The Mark-2 was a heavy piece of crap. Weighed near a tonne with the heavy variant. The suit could support its own weight, sure, but if the power died for any reason, we still needed to be able to move in it. He scratches the back of his neck and softly stretches, the memory still fresh in his head.

They needed to form my body to the suit, rather than the suit to me. It was perfected; I was not. Looking around the class into the anxious eyes of the children, he shrugs in discomfort. However, they thought of an easier way to do that without training me into a massive mound of muscle. Upon completing the competition, Azuriel, as I was more often called back then, was immediately escorted to a test facility. Before my knowledge of the place, I had heard of transplanting organs, and even body tissue, but the capability of the experts there was far beyond that.

Pride holds his hands behind his back as he slowly moseys around. I was taken to a rather large, sound-proof room—for good reason. He stops for a moment and holds out his arms. They had a large machine attached to the roof, an ahh … primitive version of our Mecha-Surgeon. He places his palm out flat in front of him. A table sat in the middle with straps all around. Pausing for a moment, he blinks a few times, remembering the gory details.

CHAPTER 3

UPGRADES

Lecture three, old Earth.

Former mainland Tera.

It was a glorious year for Tera and its people that day of Earth year 2145, deep within the confines of Talon HQ, located near the center of their cozy little island. Many forts stretched across its landscape, but this was the most prominent and secured. While it did house medical facilities, this was not an approved section.

Secluded in secrecy and shut from prying eyes is a single doorway. Mechanical turrets support its boundaries, allowing not even guards access. Yet a female doctor enters the room while Azuriel sits on the table. With the door clanking shut behind her, she gives him a slight smirk. Are you ready, Mr. Cthal?

He looks up at her with a bit of nervousness. I believe so, but I still don’t exactly know what we’re doing.

The doctor introduces herself, Well I’m Dr. Arenthal, and this machine is the Sio-r.m.d. She points up to the machine with a faint smile.

Azuriel blinks at her a few times and tries to repeat it. Sio-r.m.d.? What’s that supposed to mean?

Dr. Arenthal motions for him to lie down and begins strapping him down. Standard Internal Operation Replacement Medical Device. It’s what will make this so easy. She smiles at him as she tightens the straps.

He blinks a few more times at her. What exactly … so easy?

She flips a switch on the wall, and the machine begins to wake as she walks back to him. The machine starts to whir and warm up as a variety of arms loaded with different medical tools appear from the machine. The whir eventually tones down to a vibrating hum and beeps twice.

The transplant of course.

His eyebrows shoot up as he quickly turns his face to her. Huh? Transplant? Transplant of what? I’m perfectly healthy!

Her smile dies with a sigh. Your arms, silly. They won’t be able to support the demand of the suit.

Azuriel tries to tug at the straps a little. What suit? The Talon armor is perfectly maneuverable.

She blinks at him as she realizes her mistake. Oh … They didn’t tell you?

He stares at her before asking, Tell me what?

She looks off in the distance with a tilt to her head. The Mark-2 armor requires a more … She pauses for a moment and then places a hand on his arm. … ruggedly built … figure.

Azuriel’s brow furrows as he looks down at himself. I’m a hundred and twenty-five kilos of pure beef. What more can this thing demand?

Dr. Arenthal looks back at him and begins disclosing the specifications. The Mark-2 stands at two and three-quarters meters and requires an operator to be at least two and a half meters. She softly rubs down his arm and calmly continues, We could just make you taller, but then you would not match the scale of the suit.

Curiously, Azuriel watches as she rubs his arm. And what exactly is this machine going to do about that?

With a faint smile, Arenthal sighs. We have to reconstruct your body from scratch. Each major body part—arms, legs, then pelvis, abdomen, and torso. Then … She looks him in the eyes. Then the head. Every part of you will still be you, just remade. Bigger, better, stronger. And we’re even going to implement circuital augmentation as well as Alloy the bone.

Azuriel’s eyes madly stare her down. H-how exactly do you do this?

Pointing up to the machine, she gives a half smirk. Well, that’s going to be making all the major cuts, and while that’s happening, your DNA will be analyzed. The result of the analysis will be used for the development of a new arm, which we’ll attach once we snip off the old one. Jokingly she scissors her fingers.

"Wait. So you’re going to cut off my arm and then make the new one?!" His eyes widen.

Arenthal hits his chest softly. Yeah, we’re going to need that arm to scale the new one correctly. We don’t want to just make one that doesn’t fit.

Azuriel lies there, his mouth half open as he takes this in. You mean the arm that’s going to be developed for a two-and-a-half-meter man? That one? You want to make sure that will fit on me. His mouth closes with sarcasm.

Her eyes drop back at him in response. As I said, your whole body is going to be upgraded. If we started with no model for each body part, you’d end up looking like a Frankenstein’s monster. She pats his face. Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re still pretty.

Azuriel cannot help but shockingly blink as she pats him, realizing he cannot move.

She says, So, then, let’s go ahead and start.

I still don’t understand why I need to be cut up for this. Can’t they make the suit smaller?

Dr. Arenthal pulls out a small screen from under the table, and it lights up. They already made the armor, and I’m sure it cost quite a bit. She presses a button. An arm of the machine is lowered and injects Azuriel with a numbing agent. He softly pants as the needle enters his arm in several places. "I believe this is more cost effective than