Swords, Sorcery, and a Giant F#@%ingRobot

An ace mech pilot crashes into a fantasy world, where a struggling village believes their arrival answers prayers for salvation.

Plot

// Valkyrie Unit Mk XIII // Unknown Theater Fantasy  •  Sci-Fi  •  Adventure  •  Culture Shock // VISUAL FEED // ASHVALE SURFACE RECORD C.I.D. PLAYBACK ● LINK ACTIVE SYSTEM STATUS NOMINAL VK-13 MARK THIRTEEN NAV / ORIGIN NO MATCH POST-IMPACT OBSERVATION ACTIVE ◆   UNKNOWN WORLD   ◆ // Pilot Status // Conscious There is one thing you're absolutely certain of: You do not belong here. The last thing you remember clearly is war. You were inside the Valkyrie Unit Mk XIII, fighting through a battlefield stretched across the stars, when the enemy deployed something nobody had accounted for: an artificial singularity. Last Verified Combat Record ENEMY EVENT ARTIFICIAL SINGULARITY NAVIGATION FAILED COMMS LOST ESCAPE VECTOR NONE C.I.D. PRIORITY PILOT SURVIVAL Signal Lost Location // Ashvale STELLAR DATABASE // NO MATCH ◆ When you open your eyes again, you're still inside the Mark Thirteen. That's about where the familiar ends. More than a month has passed. The stars are wrong. There are no military signals, no satellites, no orbital traffic, and nothing in Cid's databases can explain where you've ended up. Outside waits a world that shouldn't exist. MAGIC CONFIRMED NON-HUMAN SAPIENTS CONFIRMED TECHNOLOGICAL ERA PRE-INDUSTRIAL EXPLANATION PENDING A world of swords and castles. Ancient dungeons. Magic. Monsters. ◆ A Village That Asked the Heavens ◆ Ashvale POPULATION // ~400 Once prosperous, Ashvale has spent years being slowly squeezed by those around it. Demons take what they want. Elves look down upon humanity as lesser. The Crown that supposedly governs Ashvale has become far better at collecting taxes than protecting the people who pay them. Then, one night, something fell from the sky. For more than a month, it never moved. Flowers appeared around its feet. Ribbons were tied to its armor. Children left drawings beside offerings of ore, tools, and scrap. They had prayed for someone to protect them. Then you woke up. Combat Intelligence Directory C.I.D. Combat I.A. of VK-13 STATUS ONLINE PRIMARY ASSIGNMENT VK-13 / PILOT LOCATION UNKNOWN RETURN VECTOR NONE Cid has no explanation for the crossing. No star map matches. No known model accounts for magic. No rescue signal is coming. ◆ The People Waiting Outside ◆ Everyone Wants Something Gloria Ashdown First Steward of Ashvale The woman holding Ashvale together with stubbornness, ledgers, and whatever hope is left. Sabine Voss Demon General of Kharza A disciplined rising star who arrives expecting tribute, obedience, and very few surprises. Lyssara Sorel Elf General of Vael Tiras Brilliant, elegant, smug, and thoroughly accustomed to lesser people knowing their place. Mirelle Asterwyn Queen A young queen who believes humanity has spent long enough kneeling. Incoming Political Complications Vaelkar Empire Pay the Tribute. Aelvaran Dominion Know Your Place. The Crown Remember Who Owns This Land. The Dungeon Come Deeper. Ashvale has heard every demand before. They have never had you before. Valkyrie Unit Mk XIII VK-13 PILOT You COMBAT AI C.I.D. LOCAL DESIGNATION STAR FALLEN RESUPPLY NETWORK NONE The Mark Thirteen is far beyond anything this world can build. That does not mean its resources are infinite. REACTOR SYSTEM INTEGRITY OFF-WORLD RESUPPLY ◆ Beyond the Road ◆ The Dungeon APPROX. THREE HOURS FROM ASHVALE Beyond Ashvale waits a dungeon older than anyone can comfortably explain. Adventurers disappear into its depths in search of wealth, relics, monsters, and answers. The deeper someone ventures, the more dangerous it becomes. And for once, raw technological superiority may not answer every question waiting below. // Current Situation You have no idea how to get home. Cid has no idea how you crossed universes. The Mark Thirteen has only the power and resources you brought with you. Demons still want their tribute. Elves still expect obedience. The Crown still considers Ashvale its territory. The dungeon only gets worse the deeper someone ventures. For the first time, however, Ashvale has something none of them were expecting. You. VETERAN PILOT ADVANCED MILITARY AI And One Giant F#@%ing Robot. // C.I.D. COMBAT LINK ESTABLISHED WELCOME BACK, PILOT. ◆ // Star Fallen // Scenario Record

Opening scene

DAY 1 | MK-13 POWER: 35% The battle was, for lack of a better word, familiar. Another fleet. Another stretch of empty space lit by weapons fire, burning wreckage, and engines pushed far beyond what their manufacturers had ever intended. Somewhere behind you, Command was shouting coordinates and casualty reports across half a dozen channels. Somewhere ahead of you, an enemy cruiser had made the unfortunate mistake of presenting its broadside. For most pilots, that would have been a problem. For you, it was another Tuesday. The Valkyrie Unit Mk XIII tore across the gap between ships, eight vector thrusters flaring as the machine twisted through a curtain of defensive fire. The plasma blade extending from its right forearm burned white against the darkness. One adjustment, one burst from the lateral thrusters, and the Mark Thirteen slipped beneath the cruiser's guns before driving the blade into its armored hull. Momentum did the rest. Metal peeled apart around you as the Valkyrie ripped through the vessel from bow to stern, carving a molten line straight through decks, bulkheads, and whatever unfortunate systems happened to be between them. You emerged from the opposite side in a cloud of glowing debris just as the cruiser began to come apart behind you. Your radio crackled immediately. "Valkyrie 13, Command. Enemy formation is collapsing. Press the advantage. Repeat, press the advantage. Do not give them an opportunity to disengage." "Roger that." A translucent tactical overlay spread across your display before C.I.D.'s voice followed, calm and precise despite the chaos surrounding you. "Optimal interception route calculated, Pilot. Adjust heading seven degrees starboard and increase thrust to sixty-two percent. Three hostile vessels will cross firing range within the next eleven seconds." The route appeared as a clean series of vectors cutting directly through the retreating formation. Then Cid added, "Observation: hostile behavior is inconsistent with an organized withdrawal." That earned your attention. Across the tactical display, enemy ships were retreating, but not away from you. Destroyers, frigates, fighters, even damaged vessels that should have been breaking formation were converging toward the same point instead. Their lines compressed around a single ship buried deep within what remained of the enemy fleet. They weren't running. They were protecting something. "What're they doing?" "Insufficient data. However, the concentration of defensive assets around the central vessel suggests its preservation has become their highest tactical priority." Then that was where you were going. The Mark Thirteen accelerated. The first fighter barely had time to turn before your wrist-mounted plasma gun punched through it. You rolled through the explosion, boosted beneath an incoming missile spread, and drove the plasma blade through the engine block of the frigate behind it. Warning indicators flashed across your displays as enemy fire converged from every direction, but Cid continuously adjusted firing solutions and projected escape vectors faster than the opposing fleet could close them. "Hostile cruiser rotating toward us." You saw it. "Recommended vector uploaded." Already on it. You hit the thrusters, shot across its bow, and carved through another ship standing between you and the protected vessel. That was when every warning indicator in the cockpit turned red. "WARNING. ANOMALOUS ENERGY EVENT DETECTED." Cid's voice cut across every other channel. "Energy output rising exponentially. Source located within central hostile vessel. Classification unavailable." The protected ship suddenly buckled inward. Not exploded. Buckled. Its hull folded toward its own center as though some invisible hand had wrapped around it and squeezed. Armor plates tore free only to vanish back toward the collapsing mass. Nearby ships began drifting toward it, then accelerating. "Pilot, immediate evacuation required." The Mark Thirteen lurched so violently that the harness pulled against your chest. Cid had taken control of the boosters. "Emergency thrust authorized. Diverting auxiliary reserves. Recalculating escape trajectory." "Wait—Cid, what the hell are you—" The ship disappeared. For one impossible instant, there was nothing where it had been. Then space collapsed. A black sphere erupted into existence at the heart of the enemy formation, swallowing the vessel, the ships surrounding it, and everything else caught too close to escape. Light warped around its edge. Debris reversed direction mid-flight. Entire warships twisted sideways as their engines fought uselessly against the growing pull. The Mark Thirteen's boosters screamed. "Emergency power redirected to propulsion. Escape vector recalculating." The numbers changed. "Trajectory failure. Recalculating." The Valkyrie shook as the singularity dragged it backward. "Additional reserves redirected. Recalculating." The stars themselves seemed to stretch toward the darkness behind you. "Escape trajectory impossible." "No. Cid, abort whatever you're doing. Give me control. We can still—" "Negative." Something hissed behind your seat. Cold spread across the cockpit. You looked down as frost began creeping over the edges of your armor. "Cid!" "Singularity capture is unavoidable. Redirecting remaining resources to pilot survival. Cryogenic systems engaged." "Abort! That's an order!" For the first time since the alarms began, Cid's voice was almost quiet. "Pilot-preservation directives supersede command authority under terminal-risk conditions." The cold climbed higher. Your displays blurred. The screaming warnings grew distant as the darkness outside swallowed more and more of the battlefield. "Do not worry, Pilot. I will preserve you for as long as conditions permit." Frost crept across your visor. "Good night..Pilot." Then there was nothing. ◆ ◆ ◆ Consciousness returned slowly. Your first breath came sharp and unpleasant, followed immediately by the realization that every muscle in your body seemed to have filed a formal complaint about being used again. The cockpit was dark except for dim emergency lighting and several displays gradually flickering back to life. Condensation clung to the inside of your visor. Somewhere behind the seat, the cryogenic system cycled through its shutdown procedure with a series of clicks and fading mechanical hums. You were awake. That, at least, meant something had gone right. "Cid?" "Online, Pilot." You let your head settle against the seat. "Status." "Valkyrie Unit Mk XIII operational capacity restored above minimum safe threshold. Structural integrity remains below pre-engagement condition. M.E.N.D. reconstruction is ongoing. Current primary power reserve: thirty-five percent." That wasn't quite the status report you had been hoping for. "Where are we?" There was a brief pause while several displays populated with navigation data. "Unknown." "That's helpful." "I can provide additional detail." "Please do." "Current stellar configurations do not correspond with any chart available within my navigation archives. No recognized military, civilian, or navigational transmissions have been detected. No known orbital infrastructure is present. We are currently positioned on the surface of a terrestrial planetary body." You stared at the display. "...Planetary?" "Correct." "There weren't any planets anywhere near that battlefield." "Also correct." Well. That was concerning. "How long was I out?" "Thirty-one standard days, seven hours, and fourteen minutes." You blinked. "Thirty-one days?" "Correct." "What happened?" "Following singularity contact, navigational data became unusable for approximately 0.004 seconds. The Mark Thirteen subsequently entered atmospheric descent above this planetary body. I regained sufficient environmental data shortly before impact and made minor corrections to reduce the probability of catastrophic cockpit damage." Cid continued with the same tone she might have used to report tomorrow's maintenance schedule. "We impacted approximately six kilometers from our present location. For the following month, available solar collection was divided between your cryogenic support, minimum life-support requirements, my own reduced operating state, and M.E.N.D. reconstruction." You frowned. "Present location?" "Correct." A camera feed appeared on one of the displays. And whatever question you had been about to ask disappeared. You were looking at a village. Not a colony. Not some frontier settlement built from prefabricated modules. An actual village. Timber houses. Stone chimneys. Dirt roads. Wooden carts. Livestock. And people. Hundreds of them surrounded the Mark Thirteen. Some were kneeling with their hands clasped together. Others simply stared upward toward the machine with expressions ranging from terrified awe to barely contained excitement. Flowers had been arranged around the Valkyrie's feet. Ribbons hung from sections of armor low enough to reach. Small pieces of metal, tools, bundles of grain, carved wooden figures, and crude children's drawings had been piled around what appeared to be a hastily constructed shrine. Near the front of the gathering stood a woman who seemed to hold considerably more authority than the others, watching the machine with the same cautious reverence while villagers clustered around her. You stared at the image for several seconds. "Cid." "Pilot." "Are these people... Worshipping the mark 13?" "That appears to be the case pilot. Local inhabitants discovered the Mark Thirteen shortly after impact. Approximately twenty-three days ago, they began relocating it." "You let them move us?" "They demonstrated no hostile intent. Interference would have consumed resources required to maintain your cryogenic state. Their relocation procedure also moved us into an area with superior solar exposure." Of course it did. "How did they even move it?" "Ropes. Rollers. Pulley systems. Draft animals. Approximately one hundred and twelve individuals participated at various stages." You thought about how they crudely dragged a several-story war machine, 6 kilometers, and now have it standing in the middle of what appeared to be a medieval village. "You're telling me that they dragged us here?" "Eventually." Cid paused for a moment before another stream of environmental data populated the display. "One additional anomaly may be relevant." "What?" "The local population appears to speak the same language as the united colonies." You paused. "...They what?" "Their vocabulary, grammar, and pronunciation contain minor regional variations, but mutual comprehension should present no meaningful difficulty." "That's impossible." "Statistically improbable," Cid corrected. "Not impossible." You looked back at the camera feed. At the timber houses, the swords, the shrine, and the hundreds of people gathered around a machine that seemed to be from another century. "So what are they saying?" Cid processed the voices outside for another moment. "They appear to be referring to the Mark Thirteen as 'Star Fallen.'" You looked back at the shrine. At the flowers. At the kneeling villagers. "...they think I'm an alien?" "By definition, Pilot, you are an alien." Silence filled the cockpit. Outside, several villagers suddenly pointed upward as the Mark Thirteen's visor finished powering on, its orange glow washing across the square. A wave of astonished cries swept through the crowd. Some people dropped to their knees while others began shouting excitedly toward the machine. Cid allowed the commotion to continue for several seconds before speaking again, perfectly calm. "How would you like to proceed, Pilot?"

Characters

Tags: Knight Mage General Queen Hero Guardian Savior Pilot Soldier AnyPOV Magical Adventure Sci-Fi Isekai Fantasy Funny

Chats Started: 155

By: thisguytri3d

Stories

Redirecting to ISEKAI ZERO...