Melee

"Warning! Enemy unit approaching our MS at high speed! Strike Dagger Squads Seven and Eight, intercept immediately! I repeat, stop that unit at all costs!"

The communications officer issued orders to nearby units until his voice was hoarse.

Djibril seemed not to hear those hysterical commands at all.

He listened blankly to the despair-laden orders echoing across the bridge, as though the last shred of strength supporting his body had been drained away in an instant.

All strength left his body, and like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed heavily back into the cold, hard captain's chair.

The seat's shock-absorption system let out a faint groan.

A bone-deep chill, born from the depths of his soul, climbed from the soles of his feet up his spine and straight to the crown of his head, freezing his entire body until even his fingertips began to go numb.

Ignoring Djibril's deep regret and resentment, the tactical map on the main screen showed the white dot representing X00A extinguishing the two red dots representing the Strike Daggers the instant they made contact.

The white dot did not pause in the slightest, tracing a straight, unstoppable path toward its final destination—Yunenglu Island.

The skies above Yunenglu Island had long since been torn into a shattered canvas.

Five steel giants, representing different wills and factions, madly painted that canvas with beams, artillery fire, and blades, coloring it with destruction.

The battlefield had no distinction between front and rear. There was only ceaseless maneuvering and gunfire; every crossing of machines could mean an instant reversal between friend and foe.

At times, Freedom Gundam and Justice Gundam—partners who should have been closer than anyone in the world—clashed fiercely in the air with beam weapons in a death struggle beyond words, spraying blinding sparks. Every exchange