The sky over Odessa burned with fire and fury, a violent storm of metal and light tearing across the horizon. Amid the chaos, a single blue streak danced through the explosions like a phantom made of wind and defiance. Tanya von Zehrtfeld's Zudah moved with impossible grace, every thruster burst a calculated flicker that cut through the thick smoke of war. Below her, Federation forces clashed with Zeon's battered lines, but in the sky above, her battlefield was different—sharper, colder, and more personal.
Lockon Stratos had already locked onto her several times, and each time, she vanished before his targeting sensors could stabilize. His Buster Gundam loomed through the haze, rifle glowing with steady green energy, its sensor eye narrowing like a predator's. "You're fast," he said, voice steady through the comm static, "but I'll catch you eventually. You can't dodge forever."
Tanya's voice came back low, composed, and biting with sarcasm. "And you think aiming that oversized cannon makes you a sniper? You're just painting targets for me, Federation."
The Buster Gundam fired, and twin beams of red light tore through the smoke, cutting through the air like blades. Tanya jerked the Zudah sideways, the beam scorching so close it blistered the edge of her armor. The cockpit shook, red alerts flickering across her screen. She didn't curse. She only smiled coldly and murmured to herself, "Minor damage. Nothing fatal."
Her fingers moved with surgeon-like precision across the controls, and the Zudah's 120mm rifle barked thunder back at her opponent. Each round screamed through the sky like vengeance. Lockon dived behind a ridge, rocks erupting in molten bursts around him. "You're insane!" he muttered, feeling the shockwave rattle his frame.
"Predictable, Lockon," Tanya's voice cut through, soft and almost amused. She emerged from the smoke above him, her Zudah's silhouette burning against the orange sun. She fired again, rounds exploding against the ridge, the heat distorting the air. Lockon barely managed to parry with the rifle casing, sparks splashing against his screen.
"You're fighting like a man afraid to miss," Tanya said coldly.
Lockon bit back his frustration. "This isn't a game!"
"It never was." Her tone was calm as frost.
The two mobile suits passed each other in a blur of thrusters and steel, trails of exhaust curling behind them like dueling comets. Lockon relied on sensors; Tanya relied on intuition. She felt his hesitation through the rhythm of his fire, the slight pause before every counterattack. She was reading him as if he were an open book.
Lockon adjusted his aim and fired again. Tanya juked upward, spinning the Zudah backward in an elegant arc. "So that's how you hunt," she murmured, eyes narrowing. His reticle blinked red—target lost. He cursed, pounding his console.
Above, Tanya steadied her rifle and whispered, "Target reacquired." The Zudah dove, her shots screaming through the battlefield, one round grazing the Buster's leg. The explosion ripped through the terrain, forcing Lockon to roll sideways.
"She's faster than data predicts," his system warned.
"No kidding," he growled, adjusting. Tanya smiled faintly, eyes reflecting the light of his beam. She shifted into burst-thrust mode, weaving like a ghost through every counterstrike. Each motion was a prediction fulfilled, every dodge a premonition.
"She's reading me," Lockon realized grimly, sweat tracing down his cheek. "Damn it."
Tanya saw the hesitation. "Left arm actuator," she whispered to herself. One perfect shot. Her rifle barked once. The bullet slammed into the Buster's secondary barrel, ripping it apart in a cloud of fire.
Lockon gasped. "She's dissecting me like data!"
"Focus," he muttered under his breath. He deployed smoke rounds, the valley filling with swirling gray clouds. Tanya didn't pause. "Hiding will not change the outcome," she said softly, switching to infrared sensors. The world around her turned red and gold with heat signatures.
A flash—Lockon's beam cannon fired blind. The beam grazed her flank, sending alarms shrieking again. Tanya twisted, thrusters bursting in blue-white flames as she countered with a volley of rounds. Both machines burst from opposite ends of the smoke, battered but unbroken.
Tanya's voice steadied. "Enough warm-up."
She surged forward, the Zudah moving faster than sound. Lockon barely raised his shield before her rifle smashed it away. Metal screamed as they clashed, shockwaves scattering dust and debris.
"Show me the sniper who doesn't miss," she whispered.
Lockon's eyes flared. "You're not the only one with instincts!"
He fired point-blank. The beam tore through her rifle barrel, blowing it apart. Tanya didn't flinch. She dropped the weapon instantly and drew her heat knife in one clean motion. "Then we fight fair," she said, lips curving faintly.
The knife flashed, carving a molten line across the Buster's chest. Lockon swung the heavy cannon like a club, knocking her back. Both pilots panted, the duel devolving into raw reflex and survival. The battlefield around them seemed to vanish; only the two of them existed in that suspended chaos.
Then, from the southern valley, a new explosion lit the dusk. Tanya's sensors caught a familiar pattern—the distinct energy resonance of the Gouf's thrusters. She glanced down and saw Norris Packard's Custom Gouf clashing with the crimson glow of the Aegis Gundam.
Norris moved with the elegance of a master swordsman, his heat blade slashing against Athrun Zala's beam saber. Sparks painted the battlefield gold. "You fight well, kid!" Norris shouted, his voice clear even through interference.
Athrun countered fiercely. "You're holding back, old man!"
"Perhaps," Norris replied, twisting his Gouf aside, parrying a vicious upward strike. "But that's because you're still learning what it means to fight for something."
The Aegis and Gouf circled each other in the haze, beams flaring like lightning between storm clouds. Norris's armor was battered, smoke trailing from his shoulders, but his strikes remained precise and measured. Every movement carried weight, every counter had purpose.
Athrun pressed harder, his youthful energy pushing him forward. "Why fight for a cause that's already dying?"
Norris laughed, rough and proud. "Because I chose it. That's enough."
Their swords met again in a burst of heat and fury.
Then, through the static of his comms, a familiar voice trembled with urgency. "Norris! Pull back! The Federation advance is overwhelming!"
Aina Sahalin's voice.
He blocked another strike, sparks bursting from the Gouf's elbow joint. "Aina…" He smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth bleeding. "I could die happy if it meant one more good duel."
"Please, just come back alive!" she begged.
For a long moment, Norris hesitated. Then he sighed, soft and weary. "Understood. Gouf, retreating."
He fired smoke grenades, the battlefield vanishing in thick white clouds. Athrun paused, lowering his weapon. "Another day then, old soldier."
As the Gouf disappeared into the haze, the Aegis Gundam stood silently, its pilot breathing heavily, his heart heavy with respect.
Far above, Tanya's Zudah circled back through the upper sky, her sensors confirming Norris's retreat. She didn't smile. She simply muttered to herself, "Old guard knows when to live another day."
Below, Lockon re-armed his rifle, its frame sparking from stress. "So do I," he replied through clenched teeth.
Tanya's knife gleamed under the burning light. "You'll need more than resolve."
The two pilots lunged again, machines colliding midair with the sound of thunder. Dust and light swallowed them both, their silhouettes flashing through the smoke like clashing gods. For a long time, neither spoke—only the rhythm of metal against metal, of pride against conviction.
When the dust began to settle, only two figures remained suspended against the blood-red sunset, still fighting, still unwilling to yield. They were not enemies in that moment, only reflections—each the other's equal, bound by the silent, burning truth that this war had chosen them both.
And as the last rays of light faded over Odessa, the world below continued to burn, carried forward by the will of soldiers who refused to fall.