shadowscythe
━ ⌗ ⠂⠄ beachside view.
(you don't have to match the reply, this is just to set the scene)
shadowscythe
the arm lifted. shaking. the it drove the blade straight into the faceplate. metal screamed.
once. twice. a third strike, harder. finally cracking through reinforced plating before the clawed hand shifted its grip, forcing the blade into the split and prying it open. the seal broke and water exploded outward in a violent rush, spilling from the cockpit in a flood that tore the breath from his body completely. the pressure change hit instantly. brutal and disorienting, like being ripped apart from the inside.
the mech shuddered before it went still. dead. kirima didn’t remember unstrapping. didn’t remember pulling himself free. only the feeling of movement, forcing his body to respond even as it refused. he hit the sand hard, a few meters from the mech’s shadow.
coughed, yet nothing came. then everything followed after. saltwater tore from his lungs in choking bursts, mixed with something darker ... blood. his body convulsed with each breath he tried to take, each one scraping like glass on the way in.
air. he needed air. but it wouldn’t come.
behind him, the mech groaned faintly as its systems fully shut down, the massive tail going slack against the shoreline, claw half-buried in the sand.
kirima lay just far enough away to not be crushed if it shifted. not that it would now.
his white eyes stared unfocused into the sky, chest heaving unevenly, every breath a fight he wasn’t sure he was winning. trying not to drown on dry land.
shadowscythe
the mission was supposed to be routine. elimination and extraction. instead, the ocean tried to swallow him whole. warning systems had failed one by one, drowned out by the roar of pressure and the violent groan of metal giving way. water forced its way into the mech in crushing bursts, flooding compartments that were never meant to feel the sea. it wrapped around him, cold and suffocating, turning the cockpit into a coffin.
as the water climbed, as systems died around him, kirima's hands moved witj unshaken practice. the mech (murasaki) responded sluggishly now, its massive frame dragged down by the weight of the ocean inside it, movements delayed like a dying beast fighting its last instinct. surface. that was the only thought that mattered.
the ascent wasn’t clean. it was violent. uncontrolled. the mech tore upward through the water, dragging half its failing systems with it, until the impact of sand. the shoreline erupted beneath its weight as the massive purple frame collapsed forward, half-submerged, half-sprawled across the beach like something dragged out of a nightmare.
screaming followed. distant at first. then sharper. tourists and locals alike. they scattered the moment they saw it. running from the impossible sight of a war machine clawing its way out of the ocean. inside, kirima was still drowning. water pressed in around him, filling the last pockets of air. his lungs burned, chest tightening, vision flickering white at the edges. but still, he moved.
the mech’s arm twitched, then forced itself to respond. fingers curled, slow but deliberate, reaching for the emergency blade mounted along its side. a dagger. oversized. meant for close combat and now used for survival.
