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Fio by KelvinHiu

🕷️METAL SLUG, 1998🕷️

metal slug

Fio from Metal Slug

⚠️Strong Language⚠️

Shit Raymond Said:

Raymond: Is playing Super Street Fighter 4 with Noah. Look at that other boat going by! Is there nobody on that boat watching this fucking karate dude beating the shit out of an old man?

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Raymond: FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK!

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Raymond: After Allen O’Neil comes back from the dead. ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?

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Raymond: Missus, want some Ass Bread?

Fio: …Yes, but, can you call it something else?

Raymond: Looks at the bread, which is actually in the shape of a butt. No.

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Raymond: Eating cheese dip and chips with my brother and sisters while watching unsolved mysteries…this is a good night.

METAL SLUG!!!!

Reworked Character #12: General Morden

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, alcoholism, and torture.

Real name: Donald Humphrei Morden IV

Aliases: Devil Rebirth and Your Excellency

Occupation: General of the Rebel Army, Vice Admiral of the Marine Corps (formerly), Tactical Commander for the Intelligence Agency (formerly), Commander of the Middle Eastern Garrison (formerly), and Field Marshal of the European Garrison (formerly)

Retirement plans: Buy a secluded tropical island, build a cottage in the northern forests of New Brunswick, and raise more exotic pets

Special skills: Political science, strategic negotiation, planning for ambushes and tactical assaults, sniping with heavyweight firearms, and the ability to craft persuasive messages and distort reality

Hobbies: Reading classical poetry and Shakespearean plays, playing complex piano compositions, studying geopolitical events, building wooden cabins, and hunting

Likes: Forested landscapes, his remaining family, the fearless devotion of his army, finishing things straight to the end, and smoking Cuban cigars before leading off to a battle

Dislikes: Ignorance, objectivity, people with no ambitions, governmental and military corruption, and a lack of proper etiquette and table manners

Favourite food: Creamed salmon spaghetti and maple walnut ice cream

Favourite drink: Scotch whisky

Sexuality: Heteroromantic sapiosexual

Gender: Male

Age: 49 (in 2022), 55 (in 2028), 57 (in 2030), 59 (in 2032), 61 (in 2034), 68 (in 2041), 70 (in 2043), 71 (in 2044), and 74 (in 2047)

Blood type: AB+

Weight: 249 lbs. (113 kg)

Design: He’s a 6’ 5” (195.58 cm) Canadian mesomorph with a chiselled musculature, an upside-down trapezoidal chest, and broad shoulders. He has limestone skin (it was once a rose beige), a cleft chin, a brownish mole on the left side of his nose bridge, sparkling sapphire blue eyes with flecks of blood red, and bushy eyebrows. He has wrinkles on his face, characterised by forehead lines, frown lines, crow’s feet, and nasolabial folds. He has neatly trimmed, chin-length caramel blonde hair with sideburns, a bushy, lampshade-style moustache, and an encircling band of silver-grey in the centre. As Morden is now officially a cyborg, he possesses a revolutionary self-resurrection mechanism. A rhombic dodecahedron microchip embedded in his spine springs into action whenever his vital systems fail. The chip emits a low humming frequency and flashes a cyclical pattern of blue, white, and red for precisely 50 seconds. After this brief interval, he awakens in a newly prepared cyborg body, fully restored and ready for reactivation.

His right eye has been brutally gouged out, which is indicated by the heavy scarring from six stab wounds. This would be replaced by a cutting-edge, cybernetic implant, expertly crafted by the Amadeus Syndicate. The cybernetic orb's sclera has a dark, polished chrome finish, adorned with crimson micro-circuits that mimicked the appearance of veins. At its centre, a pupilless blue-grey iris radiates a soft, luminescent glow. When it transitions to a fiery amber, its intensified brilliance signals heightened alertness and strategic recalibration. Equipped with cutting-edge scanning and data-processing capabilities, this cybernetic implant enables visual recall of critical information, threat detection, and instant recognition of key objects and individuals for future reference.

General Morden wears a pair of rusty orange boxer briefs, a glossy black eyepatch over his cybernetic right eye, and a Persian indigo armband on his left arm, adorned with the insignia of the Rebel Army. He wears a feldgrau military beret, distinguished by a scarlet band with white piping and an embroidered emblem featuring a black dragon's head swallowing a winged gold sword. He wears a white dress shirt and gloves, a flame-coloured tie, a metal dog tag necklace with his name, and a brownish-black leather belt secured with a gilded snap-on buckle. His shoulders are draped with a long brownish-black coat featuring cuffs edged with scarlet piping, golden maple leaf clasps linked by a chain, a Persian indigo, and a prominent fur collar dyed a pinkish-orange. He wears feldgrau army cargo pants, tucked into black combat boots with spike soles and lined with coyote fur. He wears a feldgrau military coat featuring a left-side white aiguillette, two breast pockets, and a scalloped rear vent with flap pockets. It also features scarlet cuffs and a turned collar with Persian indigo piping, gilt-brass buttons, and golden shoulder boards adorned with two vertical white stripes.

He wears five badges: a black bar with two vertical golden stripes and a horizontal white stripe above his left breast pocket; a gilded skull with draconic wings on the pocket flap; a silver circle with a scarlet X on a white-edged red-orange ribbon and a gilt-brass roaring dragon's head on an ultramarine ribbon, both on his left breast pocket; and a gilded six-pointed star with a scarlet-edged white circle hung on a jade ribbon, secured with a gold clip on his right breast pocket. Morden's belt supports a sheath for his combat knife and a secure strap for his military baton, featuring a white elephant ivory shaft, a scarlet velvet-wrapped grip, and flat-topped gilt-brass end caps, each set with 12 circular rubies.

He wears a drop leg holster for his Chiappa Rhino 40DS revolver and a black bandolier, slung over his left shoulder, holding .357 Magnum cartridges for the firearm. His military coat pockets contain a rose gold lighter, keys to his personal Space Tank, and a treasured photograph of his late family. The pockets of his army cargo pants carry around a pack of Cuban cigars, the Ajirabian Teardrop, a copper-hued flask of Scotch whisky, and a walkie-talkie. He wields an M20 rocket launcher, designed with a leather shoulder strap and featuring an olive green, tan, and dark grey camouflage pattern, which fires anti-tank missiles.

Morden owns the greyish-green Space Tank, a floating tank saucer emblazoned with the Rebel Army insignia on its front. Constructed as a birthday gift and token of allegiance by loyal Rebel Army members and the Pipovulaj Army, this vehicle incorporates advanced Martian and Tuatha Dé Danann technology. The Space Tank's upper body bears a striking resemblance to the Dai-Manji, while its dark grey chassis is reminiscent of the Nop-03 Sarubia's. The tank boasts extremely thick armour, a silver antenna protruding from its left side, and a gold-painted rim accented with a scarlet edge. Primarily serving as his personal transportation, the Space Tank can also be deployed on the battlefield when necessary. It features a built-in metallic blue cannon that can only be activated by inserting the Ajirabian Teardrop into a designated slot within the tank. This action opens the front compartment, revealing a cannon reminiscent of the Denturion's, and enables Morden to harness the powers of the Ajirabian Teardrop.

Character summary: Previously, General Morden was a compassionate, dependable, and reliable leader who deeply valued the lives of every soldier under his command. However, the tragic loss of his family, exacerbated by the government's and military's corruption and culpable inaction, ignited a desire for vengeance. He seeks to topple an unjust system, even if it requires dismantling all governmental powers. His vision for the New World involves unifying warring nations under a rigid, authoritarian regime, achieved by overthrowing the Earth Federation and eliminating its allies through forced assimilation and strategic neutralisation. Despite being a charismatic and adaptable leader with a strong sense of justice, he ultimately descended into ruthlessness and megalomania, becoming a bumbling madman. Upon encountering his enemies, he frequently erupts into mocking laughter, regarding them as feeble-minded and ignorant foes. Nonetheless, even in the face of humiliation and defeat, Morden’s dignity, charisma, and commanding skill always remains the same.

Despite being an atrocious person who comes across as mean and cold, he’s surprisingly sweet and kind, especially towards those who support his ambition, work alongside him or are part of his family lineage. He's a tough, efficient, and introspective individual who can be demanding of his soldiers, yet he feels genuine empathy and understanding for his troops. Although he's prone to frustration when missions don't go as planned, he never gives up. Despite the challenges, he consistently demonstrates resilience and determination, always pushing forward to achieve his objectives. General Morden is a man full of pride, often boasting about his greatest feats on the battlefield. Depending on the situation, he'll abandon his position behind the battle lines and fearlessly charge into combat. He lives by a personal code of honour that prioritises restraint, avoiding unnecessary violence whenever possible. He isn't afraid to make sacrifices when necessary and occasionally spares or even helps civilians, showing a glimmer of empathy beyond his military duties.

He's an exceptionally intelligent and cunning strategist, always thinking several steps ahead of his adversaries. A skilled manipulator, he expertly entices others to do his bidding through false promises and strategic persuasion. However, he's highly resistant to manipulation himself, and his sharp wit and worldly wisdom makes him immune to naivety. If he discovers someone attempting to deceive him, he'll confront them directly and give them a nasty glare that conveys a clear message: he sees through their ruse, and denial will only worsen their situation. When he's drunk, he becomes sorrowful, careless, and overly attached around Sagan and Logan, grows increasingly agitated, and frequently mumbles incoherently and gazes blankly upwards.

He's a melancholic, cautious, headstrong, sophisticated individual who's fairly merciful to his subordinates and skilled at evading capture. He indulges in the luxuries of life, surrounding himself with wealth, yet harbours a lesser-known artistic passion for playing the piano. Loyalty and camaraderie are paramount to him, but betrayal from within the Rebel Army is an unforgivable offence. Morden’s intolerance for failure is absolute; those who deliberately falter face severe punishment or elimination. His ego is easily bruised by ridicule or underestimation from his enemies, threatening his self-image as a fearless warrior and exceptional leader. He has no qualms about torturing and executing enemies and traitors, whether publicly or privately, and considers advancements in military technology to be essential to achieving his objectives.

He struggles with mild alcoholism as a coping mechanism for the loss of his family, borderline personality disorder, dyscalculia, trypophobia triggered by honeycombs and decaying flesh, and the fear of dying a dishonourable and gruesome death. He views domestic cats as a far cry from their majestic ancestors and larger wild relatives, often going so far as to forcefully shoo them away. Although capable of aggression and violence, he usually maintains a calculating, serious, and calm demeanour. However, beneath his surface lies a volatile temper that periodically ignites into explosive outbursts when overwhelmed by intense feelings of rage, shame, and self-loathing. Despite his resolute ambition, he secretly grapples with the moral implications of his actions. His doubts are ever-present, but he consistently prioritises his goals over his conscience. His courage falters only when faced with extremely bleak circumstances or painful reminders of his family's tragic loss.

He generally tolerates his troops' actions against external parties, but draws a firm line when it comes to harming their own comrades. He's a strict disciplinarian, swiftly addressing conflicts and misconduct amongst his ranks. When issues arise, he demands accountability, forcing the offending soldier or group to apologise, backing this demand with the threat of demotion or public embarrassment. He views the Rebel Army as a surrogate family and enjoys celebrating victories and spending downtime with them. He cherishes Allen's friendship, appreciating him as a trusted companion for casual nights out and lively conversations, but Allen's impulsivity and relentless drive for action often test his patience. He feels a pang of jealousy towards Allen, which he keeps secret, because Allen's family is still alive, whereas his own family is either deceased or estranged.

He gets along well with Doctor Amadeus, who demonstrates genuine interest in his cause and the technological advancement of the Rebel Army. Although he admires her genius-level intellect, finding it captivating and beautiful, he’s sometimes intimidated by her calculating and enigmatic nature. He secretly harbours a deep-seated fear of Rootmars, knowing she has the power to effortlessly crush him and his army if he incurs her wrath. Despite this, he holds Rootmars in high esteem, admiring her leadership skills and formidable reputation, even if their visions for the New World greatly differ. He regards Ptolemaios with skepticism, stemming from his disdain for cults and religious extremism, compounded by their past confrontation during the Arms Deal Barrage. Additionally, Ptolemaios' reluctance to engage directly on the battlefield raises concerns. Nevertheless, he acknowledges his exceptional wisdom and deeply respects his unwavering commitment to leading the Ptolemaic Army.

He’s fiercely devoted to his younger cousins, Sagan and Logan, the only family members he remains in contact with, and will stop at nothing to ensure their safety and happiness. He’s extremely protective of Sagan and Logan, treating them like his own children. He goes out of his way to safeguard them, swiftly and aggressively defending them against anyone who poses a threat, causes harm or violates their personal boundaries. However, when Sagan and Logan disagree or get physical with each other, General Morden calmly intervenes, resolving their conflicts with a gentle yet firm, understanding, and patient approach. He has zero tolerance for Sagan's habits of casually issuing death threats and making crude remarks about her comrades, whether jokingly or seriously. He also dislikes how Logan occasionally disregards Sagan's wishes, intentionally doing things she's explicitly forbidden, which often escalates into heated arguments or fights. Furthermore, Logan's tendency to engage in physical altercations with comrades and getting disoriented when exploring the wilderness consistently gets under his skin.

Morden and Tequila were once inseparable friends, sharing stories of their lives over drinks and exploring exotic destinations that Tequila had always wanted to visit. He deeply admired Tequila's worldly wisdom, courage, and profound insight into the human condition. However, their bond was severed when Morden's lust for global domination took hold, driving Tequila away and forcing him to turn against his former friend. The betrayal left a bitter taste in Morden's mouth, a painful reminder of the friendship he had lost. He has a deep-seated hatred for Marco and Tarma, as they foiled his nearly successful plan to achieve his vision of a New World during the Great Morden War. He especially despises Marco, who gouged out his eye at the end of the Great Morden War and played a role in getting the original Sagan killed during the Martian-Rebel Alliance War.

Backstory: Donald Oghma Morden IV was born on January 24, 1973 in New Brunswick, Canada. He hails from a long lineage of hunters, courageous soldiers, militant commanders, esteemed politicians, and wealthy businessmen. However, whispers abound that he's the direct descendant of a legendary Tuatha Dé Danann sovereign, fabled to have played a pivotal role in the downfall of Atlantis. The Morden name originates from a British family that served as royal advisors, food merchants, and nobles in the 19th century. Although they were of British origin, they resided in Germany, specifically within the Fortress of Königsdrache. From this strategic location, they exerted significant influence on the country's politics and military affairs. During the Napoleonic Wars, the Mordens distinguished themselves as exceptional leaders and skilled soldiers, renowned for their strategic intellect rather than brute force.

He was born into a large, middle-class Canadian family, being the sixth of eight children with three older brothers, an older sister, and a younger brother and sister. His siblings, from oldest to youngest, are Edmund, a successful woodcutting industry businessman; Quentin; Timothy, a Private in the Eurasian Garrison; Kourtney; Reynold; and Vanessa, a supervisor in food packaging manufacturing. His grandfather, Donald Humphrei Morden III, was a seasoned, worldly-wise veteran who retired after the birth of his fifth grandchild and subsequently pursued a career in hunting and sustainable meat production. His father, a Corporal in the North American Garrison, was known for his adventurous and carefree spirit. His mother, a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corps, balanced stern discipline with tender affection. Due to their demanding military careers, his parents had limited time with him and his six siblings, relying on his grandfather to provide regular care and support.

Although Morden keeps his childhood private, a few details have emerged. Remarkably, all of his siblings demonstrated exceptional intelligence, but Morden's rapid development surpassed them all. This stirred jealousy among his older siblings, who admired his swift intellectual growth, while his younger siblings looked up to him in awe. Despite this, he was incredibly close to his siblings, sharing countless hours exploring the nearby woods and enjoying board games together. Donald III taught Morden entrepreneurship basics, war history, and practical skills like hunting, wood-chopping, and shelter-building. Whenever his mother was home on leave, she would delight him with piano music, fostering a deep love for the instrument. At just 7 months, he spoke his first word: "papa”. Between ages 2 and 5, he demonstrated remarkable autodidactic abilities, exploring diverse subjects that he grasped with ease, including sociology and legal theory. By age 6, he had become a budding piano prodigy and began reading Shakespearean plays and sonnets.

At the age of 7, Quentin was diagnosed with sickle cell disease, a condition prevalent in the Morden family. Tragedy struck again a year later when Reynold went missing during a nature walk, and his father was fatally shot in combat. Six months later, he stumbled upon Reynold's mutilated, rotting corpse, infested with maggots and covered in fungal growth. The gruesome sight triggered his trypophobia, and ever since, the image of honeycombs infested with bees and decaying matter would evoke unsettling memories of that incident. Before Morden turned 10, Quentin died from health complications. Just a month later, his mother was tragically killed in an unexpected airstrike ambush. At age 12, Donald III mercy-killed Kourtney, who suffered from multiple sclerosis and debilitating complications following numerous surgeries that severely impacted her health and mobility.

As Donald III struggled with a terminal brain tumour, he made the difficult decision to place Morden and Vanessa into the Regular Army's orphan program to ensure their care. Meanwhile, Edmund relocated to Saskatchewan with Timothy, seeking a fresh start and a brighter future for the two. The series of tragic losses had left the family fractured, and Donald's remaining siblings lacked the emotional resilience to keep the family together. Morden felt deeply abandoned and betrayed as Edmund and Timothy departed, leaving their dying grandfather and younger siblings behind. Vanessa, overwhelmed by grief, deliberately distanced herself from Morden. In contrast, the Regular Army provided Morden and his younger sister with stability and support, covering their essential needs. He wondered if he had more relatives and set out to find additional family members while balancing his education, but eventually abandoned his search when he couldn't locate any direct blood relatives.

He met his future wife, Penelope, in grade 11 and began dating her, forming a strong romantic connection. After graduating at the top of his high school class with highest grades, Honour Roll distinction, and six prestigious awards (five scholarships and one bursary), he went on to study geopolitics, jurisprudence, and Marxist sociology at university. At 22, he married his high school sweetheart in a shotgun wedding after learning she was pregnant with their daughter, Dorothy. Three years later, they welcomed their son, Lawrence.

After graduating at the top of his class from university, he relocated to Riyadh and enlisted in the Regular Army Marine Corps. His exceptional leadership skills and tactical expertise propelled him to attain the rank of Vice Admiral. He then assumed roles as Tactical Commander for the Intelligence Agency and Commander of the Middle Eastern Garrison. Following his transfer to Cumbria in North West England, he was reassigned to the European Garrison, where he achieved the esteemed rank of Field Marshal. During his time in the military, he earned a reputation as being a tough, efficient, and caring officer of the Regular Army, and is held in high regard by his troops as he treated them with equal amounts of respect. He was also known for being a devoted and compassionate father to Dorothy and Lawrence, and a loving and supportive husband.

After Morden joined the Regular Army, Sagan and Logan became aware of his existence due to his impressive reputation and some family photographs their father had received from Edmund. Intrigued, they were surprised to learn they had an older cousin. Eager to connect, they decided to arrange a meeting with him. They sent Morden a letter inviting him to meet with them in Bavaria, where the Fortress of Königsdrache is located. When Morden travelled to the location, he met Sagan and Logan, and they had a warm and engaging conversation, getting to know each other and finally uniting as family. Alongside Sagan, Logan, and other key figures in the Arms Deal Barrage, he would learn about the Regular Army's deep-seated corruption, but he kept it a secret.

In 2023, during a trip to Ottawa, the Central Park bombing shook the city, claiming the lives of many innocent victims, including Penelope, Dorothy, and Lawrence. Having survived the devastating attack, Morden discovered that it was allegedly linked to an intelligence failure within the Regular Army and widespread corruption within the government and military at the time. After relying on alcohol to cope with his sadness and anger, he resigned from the Regular Army, retreated from public view, and began secretly planning a rebellion. Many loyal followers from his Regular Army days chose to stand by him, and with the support of Sagan, Logan, and his most trusted soldier, Allen O'Neil, he initiated plans for a coup aimed at rooting out corruption within the government and military.

He assumed the rank of General and formed the Rebel Army, drawing support from disillusioned Regular Army personnel and multiple radical organisations sympathetic to his ideology. During his time building up the Rebel Army, Sagan and Logan transferred ownership rights of the Fortress of Königsdrache to General Morden. As the last remaining Armitage family members, Sagan and Logan originally inherited the Fortress of Königsdrache, but chose to bestow it upon General Morden as a token of gratitude and respect. Morden was also gifted six exotic pets by his most loyal men: a serval named Othello, a Burmese python named Sycorax, a blotched blue-tongued skink named Troilus, an African grey parrot named Cymbeline, a Czechoslovakian Wolfdog named Banquo, and a capybara named Desdemona.

His mental state deteriorating, he amassed power and resources for a large-scale offensive. In 2026, Morden initiated his coup d'état, seeking to dismantle the Earth Federation and its alliances and establish global dominance. The Rebel Army, led by General Morden, swiftly defeated the Regular Army and seized control of all major cities worldwide within 170 hours. Upon receiving intel from Madoka that the Regular Army had begun mass-producing the SV-001, codenamed "Metal Slug”, following successful testing, Morden launched a strategic attack. His objective was to destroy the factories manufacturing the SV-001 and capture the units already built.

Upon learning of Morden's betrayal, his ruthlessness, and his remarkably swift coup d'état, as well as the destruction of the SV-001 factories, the US President declared him as the reincarnation of the devil. He would be responsible for brutally executing Tequila, Gimlet, and Red Eye in front of Marco and Tarma, shooting them in the head with his Chiappa Rhino 40DS revolver. Before the execution, he gruesomely gouged out Marco's left eye and then ordered Allen O'Neil to sever his left arm.

In the final showdown of the Great Morden War, Marco gruesomely gouged out General Morden's eye, avenging the torture he and Tarma endured and the execution of his comrades and friends. The Great Morden War served as a stark wake-up call for the Regular Army, prompting a significant shift in their approach to counterterrorism. In the aftermath of the war, the Regular Army began to take terrorist threats with utmost seriousness, reevaluating their strategies and protocols to prevent future attacks.

After escaping imprisonment with support from the Rebel Army and Pipovulaj Army, he secretly allied with Doctor Amadeus to exploit her knowledge of Tuatha Dé Danann technology and bioweapon development. This alliance would pave the way for the mass production of specialised cyborgs, the creation of Wysteria, the revival of Tequila, Gimlet, and Red Eye, and the development of terrifying creations such as the Flying Killers and Mutated Soldiers. He planned to utilise Wysteria as the ultimate bioweapon to achieve global dominance, and deploy Tequila, Gimlet, and Red Eye as super soldiers to serve the interests of the Rebel Army and Amadeus Syndicate.

When he formed an alliance with Doctor Amadeus, she gifted him a canine experiment named Enobarbus, who could breathe fire, as a sign of respect. This is made possible by the dog's salivary glands, which produce enzymes that generate heat and flames when they react to oxygen. This canine experiment is a 8’ 1” (246.38 cm) burly wolf with razor-sharp silver-grey teeth, prominent fangs, glowing amber eyes, and a thick Prussian blue coat that gradually transitions to a watery blue and pure white at the ears, paws, and tail tip.

Reworked Groups #5: Ikari Warriors

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death and suicide.

Overview

A mysterious Japanese-German man known only as Heidern served as strategist for the esteemed Peregrine Falcons Squad. He’s also the founder and supreme Commander of the Ikari Warriors. Heidern once enjoyed a peaceful yet militant life, living in the countryside with his wife. However, following the birth of his daughter, he contemplated retiring from the Peregrine Falcons Squad on good terms. However, tragedy struck when he lost his family. Consumed by grief and a desire for vengeance, he channelled his energy into founding the Ikari Warriors, an elite force determined to combat global injustices, crime, and terrorism.

With the backing of the Peregrine Falcons Squad's high command, Heidern implemented a rigorous military training program for his recruits. He went above and beyond to identify and refine each soldier's unique skills, recognizing that individuals approach challenges differently. According to Clark, he’s a cold, cunning, and hypervigilant leader who expertly assesses and neutralises high-priority threats. Despite his tough exterior, Heidern treats his recruits like a surrogate family.

After losing his sight in a surprise pirate attack during a Caribbean cruise and subsequently being diagnosed with lymphoma, Heidern relinquished his leadership to General Kawasaki. Following Kawasaki's brutal murder at the hands of a Mexican cartel, Heidern urgently sought a new successor. With the help of his mercenaries, Heidern spent weeks searching until he finally rescued Leona, a young Czech girl, from an unnamed town under siege by rogue militia forces. However, he soon discovered a dark truth: Leona had temporarily lost control of her Orochi blood, resulting in the tragic death of her parents. The rogue militia, seeking to exploit her powers, intended to use her as a bioweapon.

Offering her a fresh start and a chance to fight against global injustices, Leona accepted, largely due to having no other options. Leona was trained by Heidern, Clark, Ralf, and other seasoned members of the Ikari Warriors, who oversaw her rigorous military training and moulded her into a skilled mercenary. According to Clark and Ralf, Leona is a reserved, aloof, and highly efficient individual who struggles with thoughts of suicide and everyday social interactions. Despite this, she excels at commanding her foster father's mercenaries and is deeply committed to their well-being.

Although Heidern has passed on his leadership to Leona, he remains actively involved with the Ikari Warriors, focusing on training recruits and developing tactical strategies. Rumours have circulated that, despite his loss of sight, Heidern possesses the capacity to perceive heat signatures. Notably, he played a pivotal role in training Clark and Ralf, recognizing their exceptional esper abilities—a talent previously unseen among Ikari Warriors recruits. His mentorship forged a strong and enigmatic connection with Ralf, often described as resembling a father-son bond.

Leona developed a strong affinity for Clark, regarding him as an older brother, and consistently felt reassured when partnering with him and Ralf on missions. Clark took on a mentorship role, guiding Leona in mastering her cutting aura, especially her go-to esper ability called the Moon Slasher, and harnessing the power of her Orochi blood. Ralf further enhanced Leona's training by instructing her in Slug operation and maneuverability. Additionally, he encouraged her to integrate explosive tactics into her combat style, an approach she effectively incorporated through her signature earring bombs. She once considered taking her own life after losing control of her Orochi blood and unintentionally harming Clark. However, he didn't abandon her. Instead, Clark, Ralf, and Heidern intervened, successfully persuading her not to jump from the bridge and encouraging her to continue living.

Following the Great Modern War, the Ikari Warriors joined the Regular Army to form its elite mercenary branch. As a private force for hire, they specialise in resolving extreme crises, while also undertaking smaller-scale missions. With a versatile rank structure, the Ikari Warriors can be contracted for a wide range of situations and danger levels.

Insignia

It features a lozenge-shaped silver-grey shield, outlined in shimmering luxor gold and trimmed with reseda chartreuse on the exterior. The shield's centre features the Japanese character “怒” (meaning “fury”) in alizarin red, painted in a bold, expressive style, with a horizontal bronze bullet below. A crimson-hilted silver dagger runs diagonally along its left side, while a bronze full moon is suspended above the shield. An ultramarine motto ribbon sits below the shield with the name of the special forces unit, Ikari Warriors, emblazoned in alizarin red.

Ikari Warriors Base

The Zorniger Mond Hideout is a rhomboid military complex situated deep within a Congolese jungle, its strategic location enhanced by a camouflage system expertly blending into the surroundings. The base's exterior is coated in a range of jungle green tones, including sulu, wild willow, asparagus, mineral green, and timber green. This stealthy design, combined with a state-of-the-art bulletproof system, provides the Ikari Warriors with a significant tactical advantage. They can launch surprise attacks on enemy forces without being detected.

The base boasts perimeter surveillance cameras and discreet, automated turret systems that detect and neutralise unauthorised personnel. They have a reinforced, electrified fence surrounding the base with strategically placed watchtowers featuring sniper positions. Additionally, they have a rooftop helicopter pad and four strategically positioned parabolic satellites, one at each corner of the base. The military complex comprises the following facilities:

A central command centre housing Heidern's and Leona's private quarters, a large strategy room with holographic display and tactical planning tools, communication arrays for secure global connectivity, and a situation room for real-time mission monitoring.

An intelligence room dedicated to gathering and analysing intel on potential missions and enemies, featuring computer systems for data analysis and cryptology, and secure storage for sensitive documents and classified information.

Simple, functional accommodations for mercenaries, including a barracks, mess hall, showers, a gym, a lounge, a game room, and personal storage lockers for gear and equipment.

An armoury with storage for weapons, ammunition, and explosives, and an adjacent repair workshop.

A fully equipped medical facility with an operating room for emergency surgeries, recovery ward, and medical supply storage.

A garage for storing and maintaining vehicles acquired through purchase, donation from the Regular Army or capture from enemies.

A commemorative wall honouring fallen comrades, alongside display cases showcasing the team's highest-achieving awards and medals.

A trophy room displaying captured enemy equipment and memorabilia with a secure storage room for valuable and sensitive seized assets.

A coliseum, cloaked in a muted blend of mossy green, olive drab, and earthy brown hues, is protected by a bullet-proof glass dome. By day, it's a training ground and hosts special tournaments. At night, the dome darkens to an inky black, and the interior shines a vibrant crimson under the moonlight.

Extra Information

Members of the Ikari Warriors are commonly known as "Soldiers of Fortune" or "Hired Ragers”, reflecting their reputation as elite mercenaries of the Regular Army and their fierce combat prowess.

Unlike other mercenary groups, the Ikari Warriors host biennial tournaments that are open to their members and anyone else interested in participating. These events serve as a platform to assess the physical prowess and mental strategies of both seasoned and new members, while also identifying potential recruits who may be interested in joining their ranks.

They’re the only branch in the Regular Army that doesn’t have dedicated soldiers wearing uniforms that identify them as part of the Ikari Warriors.

Soldiers of Fortune, regardless of gender, receive double the average Canadian soldier's salary, acknowledging the high risks involved in their line of work. Heidern's policy ensures these elite mercenaries receive maximum financial support.

The handguns carried by Soldiers of Fortune are the Ultra Justitia Model-1977 .380 ACP or Justitia .380 ACP for short. This semi-automatic pistol is based on the Beretta Cheetah 80X, but features a distinctive grip that would later influence the design of the Walther PK380. Designed in 1977 to enhance the Beretta Cheetah's ergonomics, it offers a superior grip and hold, along with an increased ammo capacity of 15 rounds. It’s primarily used by private military companies, but it has also seen adoption by some Regular Army units.

I think I might be experiencing mild burnout from reworking the characters of Metal Slug for my AU as it's taking me much longer than usual to get shit done. So, they'll most likely be coming in slower than usual. In the meantime, I have a bunch of other goodies prepared, including a reworked group and three antagonists. I'm even working on a short story centered around IE Marco and a friend's AU version of OG Marco!

A not hostile martian want to help but it is a bit frightened by Marco.

meh

Ready to kick some ass!

Marco Rossi

A

Marco, with bags under his eyes, is slamming pots and pans together to the rhythm of "Give it to me, I'm worth it": I didn't get no sleep cause a' y'all! Y'all never gonna sleep cause a' me!

Eri: Good god... Covers her ears

Tarma: Ignore him... he's probably sleep deprived again.

Fio: Dios...I'm putting on some earplugs.

Conversing with divine greatness

The Stone Turtle lies abandoned, a crumbling shadow of its former glory. The Gaia Elephant stands forsaken, left to rust and burn amidst flickering flames. Ptolemaios and his once-magnificent, human-made divine tower now succumbs to decay, silently waiting to be reclaimed by nature's relentless grasp. Meanwhile, Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio have fully prepared themselves for their final challenge in this arduous journey. Sweat-drenched and bloodstained, their faces set with determination, adrenaline coursing through their veins. Eri orders her team of fellow deserters from the Ptolemaic Army to eliminate the last remnants of the terrorist cult. Without hesitation, they set out to carry out her command.

Behind them, an enigmatic, inverted pyramid pulses with a subtle blue glow, its surface etched with ancient symbols that refuse to yield their secrets. The heroes approach cautiously, eager to leave the tower's lofty peak behind and return to the familiarity of Sparrowhawk Operations Base. But as they draw nearer, a malevolent presence suddenly envelops them, shattering the utter silence. The grey clouds tear apart, unveiling a pitch-black sky. Thunder ominously booms and crackles, accompanied by flashes of electric blue lightning that slice through the darkness. The atmosphere thickens with an air of profound dread and a deep-seated desire to confront the darkest roots of humanity's wickedness.

Emerging from the darkness, a gargantuan entity with bat-like wings, wild hair, razor-sharp claws, and pointed elbows stands before the elite soldiers of the P.F. Squad and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. special forces, exuding an aura of deafening authority. A writhing flame, shaped like a human skull, protrudes ominously from the behemoth's chest, casting a vacant stare. The entity's glowing red eyes pierce through every fibre of the soldiers' beings as they loom over them. Its pitch-black body is illuminated by the soft glow of nighttime blue and sparkling stars. The entity's right hand grasps a gigantic reaper, its disturbingly organic form seeming to twist and writhe like it has a sentient mind of its own.

A fierce battle erupts between the colossal behemoth and Marco and his three companions, who unleash a hail of bullets into its skull and strategically lob bombs at it. With each hit, the skull flashes a fiery orange, betraying the entity's silent agony. The behemoth retaliates with devastating energy spheres that can incinerate flesh and cloth upon contact. As it shifts into its shadow form, it raises its scythe, unleashing a deadly spray of arcing smoke projectiles that explode upon impact with the stone ground. The entity alternates between this attack and its energy spheres, creating a mediocre battle rhythm that makes the best efforts of the brave soldiers fighting to take it down feel surprisingly easy. Despite their valiant efforts, Marco and his friends can't shake the feeling that the entity is merely toying with them, its true power waiting to be unleashed.

They continue to exchange blows until the behemoth unexpectedly halts its attack on Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio. The four elite soldiers cease firing and bombing, lowering their weapons as they catch their breath. The entity unleashes a deep, echoing chuckle, its large hands gripping the rim of the tower. This surprises Marco and his friends, as they never thought the behemoth capable of producing such human-like sounds.

“Mmmmmmm… I am struck by the profound shock of being in the presence of four militant mortals. Unbeknownst to you all, I secretly observe you and the activities of other humans from a distance too great for any person to reach. I must applaud you all for putting up a successful defence. You have truly shown me your capabilities as defenders of Earth,” the behemoth speaks with remarkable eloquence and fluency.

Their voice loudly echoes in the minds of Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio, creating a sense of relaxation intertwined with uncertain fear. Lingering whispers are layered over its deep, smoothly masculine voice, which carries a potent hint of the demonic. Marco gives the entity a serious look, while Fio partially hides behind Tarma and Eri readies a grenade, gripping it tightly.

"Who are you? What's your purpose?" Marco's voice is laced with a deadly seriousness as he questions them.

“Ahhhh… I knew you were going to try to gather precious information about me. I am the apotheosis of humanity. I am the duality of life and destruction. I am the empowerment of raw emotion. I am the wielder of the Life Reaper, taking the souls of the deceased or those who dare to wrongfully challenge me. I remain nameless, yet I'm known by many monikers. The remaining Pseudo-Incan tribe believe I am Supay, their god of death and the mighty ruler of Ukhu Pacha. Some call me the Dark Lord, while others refer to me as the Deity of Fear. However, I'm often referred to as the Avatar of Evil. Ptolemaios and his terrorist paramilitary cult, who sought to exploit me in their quest for global domination and control over all realities and timelines, demonstrated a startling lack of foresight. They cannot comprehend the essence of my true purpose. However, you four are understanding, gifted with the inner workings of foresight. You have all witnessed things that surpass human comprehension,” the entity spoke with deliberate care, clearly impressed by the strawberry blonde Marco’s stoic demeanour.

“Like the Martians, Mutated Soldiers, and Man Eaters?” Tarma curiously asks, his eyebrow arched in inquiry, as he lowers his dual heavy machine guns, their barrels dipping slightly.

“Indeed, Tarmicle. You four possess the capacity to face the unknown, even when it deeply terrifies you. This is a remarkable achievement in itself. War, criminality, and terrorism are one realm, but the celestial is an entirely different domain,” the Avatar of Evil responds, its gaze sweeping across the group as it gently raises an index finger, then lowers it to the ground.

Tarma gives the entity an utterly surprised look, feeling a tad concerned about how it knows his true name. This sparks a mental alarm in Marco and Fio, who can't help but wonder if the Avatar of Evil is also aware of their real names. Despite being impressed by its words, they remain on high alert, unsure of what this entity truly wants from them. Marco and his friends exchange glances of uncertainty among themselves before Eri bravely steps forward.

“What the fuck do you want from us?” Eri demands, her voice venomous, her brow furrowing slightly as she confronts the Avatar of Evil.

The Avatar of Evil lets out a few low, menacing chuckles, clearly amused by Eri's use of profanity as it flexes its fingers, “Your crass attitude never fails to impress me, Chizuko.”

Eri's eyes narrow into a snarl, tempting her to lash out at the supposed deity of the Ptolemaic Army for uttering her birth name. However, she knows it's futile, so she remains silent, her gaze fixed on the behemoth with a cold, cautious intensity.

“Nevertheless, there is nothing I want from you mere mortals. The only things I require are a small portion of your time and some patience,” the Avatar of Evil proclaims with a sense of boldness, breaking the awkward silence.

Everyone is skeptical of the Avatar of Evil, yet they reluctantly comply with its wishes without a murmur of dissent.

“Let us speak like civilised creatures, shall we?” it mutters, leaning forward slightly, its eyes glow with intrigue and ferocity.

“Like what?” Fio asks in a voice that's sweet and gentle with a hint of nervousness.

The Avatar of Evil strokes its chin thoughtfully, lost in deep contemplation as it searches for a fascinating topic to discuss. Meanwhile, the brave soldiers wait patiently, each finding ways to cope with the tense silence. Tarma lights a cigarette with his silver lighter, while Fio clutches Peppino and caresses her greyish-brown teddy bear for comfort. Marco pulls out a faded photograph from the left breast pocket of his vest, then gazes up at the darkened sky with a hint of melancholy. Beside him, Eri takes a long swig from her flask of vodka, her right foot tapping impatiently. After a couple of minutes, the Avatar of Evil conjures up a clever topic of interest. It tilts its head to the left, clasping its clawed hands together as it rests its chin on them.

“What are your thoughts on morality, war, and the cycle of life and death?” the Avatar of Evil asks suddenly, its voice dripping with intrigue.

It seeks to uncover the elite soldiers' unique perspectives, driven by an insatiable desire to know. Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio exchange dumbfounded glances, their faces etched with intrigue as they stare at the Avatar of Evil. Tarma scratches the back of his head, lost in thought, while Fio gazes up at the blackened sky. Marco's serious expression remains unchanged, but Eri lets out a scoff, tucking her flask of vodka away.

“So… You want us to wax philosophical or something?” Eri replies, her voice tinged with bewilderment, utterly taken aback by the unexpected question.

The Avatar of Evil remains silent, its piercing gaze fixed intently on the elite soldiers as they await their responses.

“Tsk… Fine! We'll answer your stupid question,” Eri says with a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

Tarma exhales a stream of cigarette smoke, then speaks up, casting curious glances at his friends as he seeks their thoughts on the Avatar of Evil's question, "Who should go first?"

“Mmmmm…” the Avatar of Evil murmurs, its gaze shifting to Marco, the leader of the brave soldiers, as it suggests, “How about Marchrius?”

Marco remains quiet as the Avatar of Evil calls out his real name, but he's poised to respond to its question. His glass eye feels slightly cold against his socket, and his heart rate quickens as he anticipates his social awkwardness kicking in. His dull turquoise eye flickers briefly to Tarma, seeking reassurance, and his queerplatonic friend responds with an encouraging thumbs up.

Marco cleared his throat awkwardly, then replied in a stoic tone, “From what I've learned, morality, war, and concepts of life and death are pretty subjective. They've always been open to interpretation, right? If you're that interested, I’ll share my personal thoughts on these topics…”

He exhales a deep sigh, collecting his thoughts as he composes himself to articulate his views with clarity.

"Uh, so, personally, I lean towards consequentialism—you know, where our actions are judged by their consequences? It seems logical that we should prioritise not hurting people and focus on maximising overall welfare. Over, you know, personal gain. I mean, it's just basic moral math, right? Do what benefits the most people, considering, hypothetically, everyone's fully informed and rational preferences… Yeah," he explains, pacing slightly back and forth, as he outlines his personal views on the subjective concept of morality.

He lifts his head, meeting the Avatar of Evil's glowing red gaze, and continues in a steady voice, initially tinged with awkwardness, but growing more confident.

“War, huh? So, I've come to think that all conflicts might ultimately lead to humanity's unified strength. Perhaps our past wars are stepping stones to one final, decisive showdown that demands global cooperation. Which, theoretically, could totally transform society and usher in an era free from violence, hatred, and corruption. On a sombre note… Mortality inevitably prevails. Moreover, many organisms possess a troubling capacity for destruction, often surpassing their creative potential when unchecked,” his final thoughts are laced with a strong hint of pessimism, but with a sense of relief, he takes a long, deep breath and concludes, "That's all I have to say for now."

Marco glances over at Eri, whose expression, like that of the others, is one of astonishment at the words he articulated so eloquently, belying his apparent social awkwardness. He ceases pacing and stands still, his gaze shifting to Eri as he regards her with intellectual curiosity as he waits to hear her philosophical thoughts. Eri's exhausted dark brown eyes, sunken with fatigue, slowly rise to meet the Avatar of Evil's gaze.

Eri raises her hands briefly in a gesture of exasperation before crossing her arms and sharing her candid thoughts on the entity's question, "Let's get real, folks! Morality is nothing more than a cultural construct. Right and wrong? Just made-up labels. There's no universal moral truth. Every society makes up its own rules based on their quirky customs and beliefs. Good and evil? Forget about it—that sort of shit is just fuzzy, nebulous concepts. We'll never figure out the grand scheme of morality. Cultures slap together values based on what keeps their members in line and feeling good."

She pauses, tucking the grenade into her sage green load-bearing backpack with a practiced motion. With her left hand resting on her hip, she sweeps a stray strand of dirty blonde hair from her face with a swift, precise gesture of her right hand.

Eri cracks her knuckles, relieving the stiffness, and continues with a serious yet weary expression, “War is stupid. It’s a big fucking mess. Once the bullets start flying, we're stuck with the harsh reality of killing, regardless of how messed up it is morally. But let's be real, we've also got a duty to protect the innocent and uphold some semblance of justice. War shouldn't be taken lightly, but sometimes it's necessary. To keep it from getting out of hand, we need strict rules. A war needs to be officially declared, have a legit reason for happening, and aim to bring about actual peace. If I'm being honest, life and death just coexist. There's no magical link between them because that sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me. It seems to me that we simply live and then we die—that's about it!”

Marco, Tarma, and Fio exchange curious glances, sensing a hint of nihilism and apathy in Eri's words. Eri, oblivious to their questioning stares, nudges Tarma with her elbow, causing him to flinch slightly. She scowls at him, struggling to let go of her lingering animosity, her voice barely above a whisper, "It's your turn, moron."

“Urm…” Tarma murmurs, wincing at the sting of Eri's words, a flicker of hurt crossing his face.

He sniffles and runs his fingers through his plum brown hair, which has subtle, effortless curls. Though plagued by insecurities about his intellectual abilities and struggles with complex subjects, he’s fully prepared to give it a try.

“I'm not a philosophy expert. Honestly, I don't even fully understand my own opinions on most complicated topics. However, I'll do my best to share my thoughts…” he speaks, his voice steady and calm as he strives to maintain a confident tone.

He strokes his chin thoughtfully, his gaze locked onto the Avatar of Evil's glowing red eyes, feeling as though they're judging him on an intellectual level. Fio gently places a reassuring hand on Tarma's back, offering comfort. She recognizes that not everyone possesses a deep understanding of themselves and complex philosophical concepts.

The gesture brings Tarma some much-needed comfort. He lightly kisses Fio on the cheek, causing her to blush, before speaking up with a hint of newfound confidence.

“Uh, yeah, so I think our morality thingy is pretty much shaped by, you know, our parents, cultural influences, and some universal rules. Every person has this inherent dignity, so we gotta follow some ethical rules that make sense, logically and all that. It's a good idea to avoid contradictions. If you don't, you might come across as a hypocrite, and that's a label nobody wants to wear. Anyways… Honestly, I don't think what happens after we do something really matters; it's the act itself that matters, not the outcome. As a soldier, I may seem like an unlikely advocate for pacifism, but I strongly believe in it. War and all other forms of violence suck and they’ll always be a pain in the ass. Well… Ummm…” Tarma sniffles, composing himself as he struggles to maintain his calmness in the presence of such a foreboding entity.

He takes a long drag on his cigarette, cracks his knuckles, and attempts to muster a confident air as Fio gently squeezes his free left hand. Following a fleeting pause, he presses on with his speech, hoping to articulate his thoughts without sounding foolish. Fio releases his hand, and he takes a step closer to the behemoth and his friends, bravery and apprehension warring within.

“I strongly believe our best efforts should focus on standing against all of this war. We also can’t forget about actively fighting for peace, even if it means challenging our own moral beliefs. I hope that if we all try really hard, we can make the world a better place. Life and death are like two sides of the same coin, you know? They're always fighting for control, which is represented through our actions. So yeah, that's my two cents. I hope it makes sense, because I'm not really sure what I'm talking about,” Tarma finishes his thoughts with a slight shrug, accompanied by a gentle, albeit uneasy, smile.

Fio gently applauds Tarma, while Marco shoots him a disbelieving glance, astonished to discover that his close friend is a so-called pacifist. Eri's eyes dart upward in wry amusement; Tarma's pacifist ideals seem at odds with his impulsive nature and willingness to brawl for those he cares about. As the Avatar of Evil awaits the final elite soldier's response to its burning question, Marco, Tarma, and Eri turn in unison to face Fio, their attention now focused on her.

“I never gave much thought to such complex subjects until now. Uhhmmmm…” Fio admits, her fingers fidgeting nervously as she toys with the strands of her orangish-brown ponytail.

She pauses for a brief moment, her gaze calmly meeting the Avatar of Evil's. The entity's curious red eyes seem to bore into the souls of Fio and her friends with an unnerving silence. Tarma gently rubs her left shoulder, offering what reassurance he can, and she smiles softly in response, her eyes shining with gratitude.

Fio clears her throat, darting a brief glance at Marco, who nods lightly in encouragement, and then at Eri, who gives her two thumbs up, before speaking up, "Uh, if it's okay... could we, maybe, discuss my thoughts on war? I-I mean, I've been thinking... avoidable and inevitable wars, they just seem like, well, a constant threat to humanity, you know? War just... it doesn't really accomplish anything, only serving as a catalyst for destruction and suffering. It changes the moral fabric of people, and societies, in really profound ways. It greatly accelerates the technological development of war machines and weaponry. And it all starts when conflicts get out of hand, and, well, free will just doesn't seem to matter anymore. The consequences are just... visceral. Devastating. As for morality... Mmmmmm…"

She trails off, her voice fading into a nervous sigh as she fidgets beneath the entity's piercing gaze. Her eyes drop to the stone ground beneath her feet. She lightly strokes her chin, collecting her thoughts with a contemplative gesture, before formulating a thoughtful response.

“Um, so… Morality is concerned with… the kind of person we strive to be, you know? It's about cultivating virtues that make us, well, better humans. To truly live a morally righteous life, we're, uh, called to develop habits like honesty, bravery, justice, and generosity. These traits are, I believe, fundamental to our flourishing as individuals. As we practice these virtues, we become more... resilient, more capable of making tough choices when faced with ethical dilemmas. And that's when it clicks: by honing these habits, we empower ourselves to do what's right, even when it's hard. We learn to trust our instincts, to listen to our conscience, and to stand firm in our convictions,” Fio continues, gathering her courage and speaking with as much confidence as she can muster.

She steps away from Tarma as he releases his gentle grip on her left shoulder, and then distractedly fidgets with Peppino before refocusing on the conversation.

“I want to believe that life's power exceeds death's grasp. Death can feel overwhelming and inevitable... but what if life's resilience is stronger? We've all witnessed it in some form or another. It's truly phenomenal to see nature and the remnants of human civilization reclaim and revitalise what was once destroyed and lost. It's breathtaking, yet terrifying. Can life truly overcome death? I think so. In astonishing ways, vitality perseveres,” she concludes, her voice ringing with genuine sincerity and infectious optimism.

As a Papilio xuthus butterfly flutters past Fio, she feels an unexpected surge of profound fulfillment and calm rather than the instinctive flinch she might have anticipated. The others follow Fio's gaze to the Papilio xuthus, its path seemingly leaving a trail of sparkling calm in its wake. Eri raises an eyebrow, questioning whether her sleep-deprived mind is playing tricks on her. Marco remains stoically indifferent, but Tarma's attention is riveted on the butterfly as it vanishes into the empty eye socket of the colossal skull embedded in the behemoth's chest.

The Avatar of Evil reclines slightly, placing its hands flat on the stone ground of the tower, its seemingly emotionless face illuminated by a newfound understanding, as the diverse perspectives of these four elite soldiers bring a measure of enlightenment.

With a slow, satisfied exhale, the entity speaks in a low, resonant tone, its voice tinged with pride, "Your perspectives on morality, war, and the cycle of life and death are truly fascinating. I must admit, I hold them in high esteem."

Marco, craving a smoke break, retrieves a cigar from the right pocket of his khaki-green army cargo pants and lights it with a gilded lighter hidden in his crimson vest. Meanwhile, Tarma takes a few final drags on his cigarette before crushing it beneath the heel of his paratrooper boot. Fio carefully tucks Peppino into the left pocket of her cordovan Eisenhower jacket, while Eri stands by, her arms crossed, subtly shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“So…” Fio takes a swift pause to inhale a few meditative breaths from her Ventolin inhaler, then resumes speaking in an exceedingly courteous tone, “What are your thoughts on morality, war, and the cycle of life and death, if you have any to share?”

With a gentle tilt, the entity angles its head to the right, its gaze shifting ever so slightly.

“Well, Fiolina… All of your views are valid, and I find myself in agreement with every single one of them. However, before I bid farewell to this mortal coil, I have a few parting thoughts to share,” it respectfully responds, clearly impressed by Fio's thoughtful consideration and gracious politeness.

Everyone listens intently, not daring to utter another word. Eri drains the last of her trusty flask of vodka, while Marco takes a few puffs from his cigar. The Avatar of Evil's claws scrape against the stone of the looming tower, digging in ever so slightly. Suddenly, thunderclaps boom through the sky, and crimson-purple lightning flashes violently around them. The group of brave soldiers flinch, momentarily caught off guard. As they steady themselves, Marco and his companions are surrounded by a thick, star-studded fog that shimmers like diamonds. It obscures their view of the Avatar of Evil and the lifeless form of Ptolemaios, his defeated body still entwined with the wreckage of his pillar contraption.

"Have you ever considered that morality and war are mental constructs shaped by human psychological and sociological pressures? Why must humanity adhere to the strict, often confusing rules of morality? Does it provide a profound sense of self-righteous gratification or is it a means for humans to conform to societal expectations? Why are some people oblivious to the consequences of their actions, while others hold them in high regard? Why do some individuals adopt a nihilistic stance towards the idea of a universal and individual moral compass?” the Avatar of Evil pauses for a fleeting instant, surveying the four elite soldiers who stand transfixed and stunned by the challenging questions.

Its voice resonates loudly and clearly within the minds of Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio, booming with demonic dread and masculine authority. Whispers of secrets weave through it, spoken in a language that echoes the Martian tongue and the mystical Enochian, incomprehensible to their understanding.

Without further hesitation, it proceeds with a deliberate and calculated calmness, “Why does war exist? What truly sparked its inception? Does war hold any genuine significance? Have you four pondered the notion that life is inextricably linked with destruction? Is there a deeper connection between these seemingly polar opposites? If so, why do some view life as a linear progression from birth to death, while others believe in the possibility of a cyclical existence beyond mortal suffering?"

The blinding fog gradually lifts, revealing the stone ground of the tower's summit, now teeming with life. Moss and an array of vibrant, exotic mushrooms—violet webcap, bleeding tooth, latticed stinkhorn, lion's mane, and indigo milk cap—flourish in every crevice. However, amidst this lush scenery, a gruesome sight lies in stark contrast: Ptolemaios's freshly deceased corpse, half-devoured, exposes rotting flesh, maggots, and bare bones. The once-majestic floating tower now lies in ruins, overrun by an explosion of plant life. Yellow and black butterflies swarm the area, feasting on the nectar of sweet flowers: hollyhock, lavender, milkweed, and vervain. Marco and his three friends stand awestruck, torn between the beauty before them and the horror of how swiftly this transformation occurred. They exchange disbelieving glances with the Avatar of Evil, their questions unspoken but palpable in the stunned silence.

The behemoth gently clears their throat, taking this brief moment to collect their thoughts before delivering their concluding remarks, “Your philosophical views, as Marco noted earlier, are fundamentally subjective. Moreover, as your brains lack a divine spark, your understanding of complex and multifaceted subjects will always be limited. Regrettably, we've veiled your understanding of ultimate truths. Nonetheless, it remains fascinating to observe the extraordinary efforts individuals will undertake to attain absolute knowledge on matters that captivate their interest... I shall take my departure now. May our paths cross again soon.”

As Tarma's worldview begins to fracture under the intense scrutiny, Fio's gentle hand envelops his, her calm demeanour a beacon of serenity that starkly contrasts to the turmoil raging within him. Fio's breath comes in ragged gasps as she struggles to wrap her mind around the profound implications, her gaze fixed on the transformed landscape. Meanwhile, Eri's jaw hangs slack, her mind reeling as she struggles to process the barrage of profound and unsettling questions the Avatar of Evil has posed, each word echoing in her thoughts like a lingering challenge.

Marco takes a step forward, his curiosity piqued, and eagerly prepares to inquire about the notions of "divine spark" and "ultimate truth", seeking clarification on these intriguing concepts. He raises his arm in a pleading gesture, hoping to persuade the entity to linger, but it's too late. The Avatar of Evil unfurls its immense wings, casting a dark silhouette against the stormy sky, where lightning flashes illuminate the darkness. Then, with a majestic sweep, it vanishes into the murky depths, leaving behind the fading echo of its wings beating, growing fainter and fainter until lost in the distance.

Marco gazes out at the horizon as the murky darkness swiftly yields to unveil a breathtaking twilight sky. Though a part of him feels intellectually drained and defeated for not stopping the Avatar of Evil in time, he stands stoically, lost in silent amazement and relief. Tarma approaches him with his characteristic nonchalance, but beneath the surface, he's grappling with his own intellectual doubts. He offers Marco a reassuring pat on the back, and Fio soon envelops them both in a comforting hug, which they gratefully return. Meanwhile, Eri remains transfixed in awe, but gradually snaps back to reality as she retrieves her walkie-talkie from her MultiCam SPCS. She swiftly activates it and checks in with her team, inquiring if they've completed their mission now that Ptolemaios' sinister plans have been thwarted once and for all.

Trevor's voice crackles over Marco's walkie-talkie, "Yo! Major Rossi, can you hear me?"

The sudden interruption breaks the spell, and Marco releases Tarma and Fio from the hug, exhaling a tired sigh as he retrieves his walkie-talkie.

"Yes, Sergeant Spacey, I can hear you. Is everything alright? Did you succeed in apprehending General Morden and his forces?" he responds, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and fatigue.

Trevor breathes a sigh of relief, his momentary fear of losing Marco dissipating.

"The situation is under control! We received an unexpected visit from the Ptolemaic Army, but those punks were crushed like insects," he says with a hint of triumph, followed by a happy chuckle. "Wanna know something even better?"

Marco raises an eyebrow, intrigued by Trevor's query, as Eri draws closer to the group, her interest piqued by the conversation. Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio exchange eager glances, their minds racing with the same unspoken question: what news does Trevor bring about his mission to capture General Morden?

Just then, Nadia's voice cuts through, her tone eerily jubilant, “We've finally captured General Morden!”

"Hey, don't forget about Wysteria," Clark's voice comes through the walkie-talkie, sounding genuinely pleased and relaxed. "We rescued her from General Morden's clutches, and thankfully, she's doing great. She bounced back like a champ, just like always."

The revelation leaves everyone stunned, but it sparks unbridled excitement among the four brave soldiers. Tarma exclaims a triumphant "Boyah!" and sweeps everyone into a warm, tight embrace, prompting Fio to erupt into childlike giggles with unbridled joy. Eri returns the hug, albeit reluctantly, exhaling a weary sigh as a faint, relieved smile crosses her face, glad that the ordeal with Morden has finally come to an end and Wysteria is safe. Fio showers Tarma's left cheek with a couple of passionate, tender kisses, causing his smile to broaden even further. Meanwhile, Marco provides calming solace, gently massaging Tarma's back with soothing circular motions.

For Marco, it's a moment of profound joy, a feeling he hasn't experienced in a long time. He's thrilled that General Morden will finally be brought to justice after his numerous escapes and the multitude of crimes he's committed, and relieved that Wysteria wasn't used for some nefarious purpose. Marco eagerly awaits the day when justice will be served to the man responsible for tearing his comrades apart and sowing strife in the world. Tarma shares Marco's sentiment, looking forward to Morden's impending trial and reuniting with the dearly missed Wysteria. Meanwhile, Eri and Fio are ecstatic to learn that their allies—Trevor, Clark, Ralf, and Nadia—have successfully completed their mission to capture the sly General Morden and his Rebel Army loyalists.

"I guess you all know what this means, right?" Ralf's voice crackles over the walkie-talkie, a playful hint evident in his tone.

Marco and his friends exchange knowing glances, nodding in unison as a shared thought passes between them. They're eager to celebrate this monumental success back at the Sparrowhawk Operations Base, their anticipation palpable. They know that Clark, Ralf, Trevor, and Nadia share their eagerness, anticipating a grand celebration for the successful capture of Morden and his remaining forces. The rest of the Regular Army—including Tequila, Gimlet, Red Eye, Pupipi, Hyakutaro, Rumi, and everyone else that Marco and the others personally know—will be ecstatic once they hear the news.

I’m pretty sure everytime I draw Marco, his bang is getting longer.

Iron Eclipse Tarma Moodboard

I’m bad at drawing vehicules, I should pratice more.

Butt eater

The more I draw Marco, longer is his bang. help