Glory to Mankind (Nier Automata) ch 23

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"This is 9D! Requesting immediate assistance!"

"D-Damn it! 94B, clip that bastard on my six! I can't shake them!"

"12D, on me! 94B's pinned down! Move!"

The desert sky was a battlefield of fire and light. Explosions painted the heavens in flashes of white-hot brilliance, streaked with violet and molten red. The horizon bloomed with chaos as YoRHa's decoy bases burned. The Machines had taken the bait, surging forward in endless waves, their numbers a dark tide against the sand.

They came on foot, heavy metal boots grinding dunes into dust. They came from the air, sleek flying machine units slicing the sky in synchronized formations. They came in swarms, their baleful red eyes glowing like embers in the storm. The desert trembled beneath their march. What had once been lifeless, barren land now teemed with the relentless advance of a mechanical horde.

"Where the hell did they come from?" Commander White's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding.

"R-reports say from the North!" 6O stammered. "First sightings came from deep desert!"

The North. That explained the delay. Even YoRHa's orbital satellites, as advanced as they were, couldn't map the vastness of the desert with precision. The Machines had exploited the blind spot, masking their approach until it was too late.

White's fist tightened on the command console. She didn't like being outmaneuvered. "Get me Lieutenant-Colonel Smith, now!"

Smith's face flickered onto the screen, his expression as hard as the steel around him. White wasted no time. "How many civilians are left in the bunker?"

"Eighty-six percent evacuated," Smith replied without hesitation. "We're working through the last batch. We need time until your transports return."

Eighty-six percent. Not enough. Not nearly enough. White's gaze flicked to the tactical display, where red markers swarmed over their positions. "Be advised, the Machine Army is advancing on our front lines. They'll overrun the decoy bases soon."

Smith didn't flinch. He'd seen worse. "Can you hold them?"

"We'll hold," White said. "But only until the transports are clear. Those bases were never meant to last."

Smith nodded grimly. "Understood. What's the ETA on your transports?"

White turned to her operators. "Status on the transports!"

"Two hours, ma'am!" came the reply.

Two hours. She could feel the weight of it—a clock counting down in her mind as the Machines closed in. Each second felt like a noose tightening around their necks.

"Ma'am!" an operator called out. "Urgent distress call from Colonel Anemone!"

"Put her through!"

The screen shifted to Anemone's face, drenched in sweat, her voice raw with desperation. Behind her, the thunder of war drowned out everything else—the roar of cannons, the shriek of bullets, the unrelenting hum of Machine engines.

"White! We're under heavy attack! They're everywhere! Where the hell did they come from?"

"The North," White barked. "They were massing in the deep desert. We didn't—"

A deafening boom cut her off. The screen flickered. Static.

"Connection lost!" an operator reported.

White slammed her fist against the console. "Bring up the planetary feed. Now!"

The main screen lit up, displaying satellite feeds from across the planet. The war was everywhere. Android tanks tore through the ruins of Berlin, their cannons ripping apart Machine formations with brutal efficiency. In Africa, Resistance fighters whooped and hollered as they ambushed smaller Machine units, their attacks swift and devastating. In the Indian subcontinent, androids armed with spears and rifles surged forward, chanting mankind's name as they stormed entrenched enemy positions.

But elsewhere, the tide was turning. Fighters in the Filipino mountains were cornered, their defenses crumbling as Machines advanced. In China, massive armored columns punched through YoRHa lines like battering rams, scattering defenders in their wake. And in the desert—here, now—the enemy was overwhelming. The decoy bases were on the verge of collapse.

White's gaze hardened. Her voice cut through the tense silence like a blade. "We fight until the last human is off this planet. No exceptions."

"Ma'am, we could deploy the reserves," 6O suggested, hesitant. "Or pulling some of the escorts of the tran-"

White's response was immediate. "If we commit the reserves, we'll have no reinforcements for critical sectors. We are not pulling out the escorts from the transports too. It's good that the machines are focusing on the decoys rather than them and we will keep it that way! The reserves and escorts stay. We hold with what we have." Her eyes burned with resolve. "And tell those transports to move faster."

On the screen, the battle raged on. Three YoRHa insignias stood representing their bases. Tons of red bore down on them. And in the far back, a white globe which was the UN bunker. 

"Which FOB is the most vulnerable?" she asked.

"FOB Central, ma'am!" 

"Pull out some troops to reinforce it, now!"

+++

"2B? Do you copy? This is 6O! Do you copy, 2B?"

The comm crackled in her ear, the strained voice barely audible over the chaos around her. 2B's jaw tightened as her ho229 Flying Unit screamed through the air, slicing through the storm of battle. With a single, precise motion, she drove her energy blade straight through the Machine transport ahead. Sparks showered the sky as the massive structure split in two, its halves tumbling in slow, fiery arcs before erupting into a blinding explosion.

"Yes, what is it?" 2B replied, her voice calm and cold despite the storm of adrenaline surging through her. Her eyes darted across the battlefield, already searching for the next threat.

Moments ago, she and 9S were enjoying a quiet moment. Then the sky erupted in flashes of light, and the war resumed. Android Armored units rolled into the streets below like a tide of steel, their weapons scorching the air with energy fire. Above, enemy transports descended in waves, dropping reinforcements as smaller Machines swarmed in tight, coordinated formations. It had gone from quiet to chaos in the blink of an eye.

"FOB Central is requesting immediate assistance," 6O's voice crackled again, strained with urgency. "The situation is critical! How copy, over?"

"Acknowledged," 2B said sharply, yanking her controls into a hard bank.

"2B! Watch out!"

The warning came sharp and sudden from 9S. Instinct took over. The air around her rippled with heat as a lance of red plasma tore through the space she'd occupied a second earlier. She twisted her ho229 hard, narrowly avoiding the beam as it seared past, leaving the air molten in its wake.

Her eyes locked on the source—a heavily armed Machine transport bristling with cannons, its weapons charging for another shot.

Before she could react, a second ho229 streaked into view, painted jet black. "I've got this one!" 9S called, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the comm. His craft ripped past hers, missile pods sliding open. A moment later, a barrage of rockets screamed through the air, slamming into the transport with pinpoint precision. The explosions tore through its frame, one after another, until it was nothing more than a fireball spiraling to the ground.

"Thanks," 2B said, her tone clipped as she steadied her craft.

"No problem! But you owe me one," 9S quipped, though the usual lightness in his voice was tinged with strain.

2B didn't reply. Her eyes were already locked on the horizon. "We're moving to Central," she said. "Afterburners, now."

"Deploying."

The two flying units roared forward, their afterburners streaking trails of white-hot fire across the sky. Below, the battlefield stretched endlessly, chaos rolling across the desert in waves. Machines advanced like a living tide, their armored lines unrelenting against the scattered YoRHa androids holding the line. Desperate calls for support crackled through the comms as the ground forces struggled to stem the onslaught.

"Central, this is 2B. 229 support en route. Mark your targets."

"Copy that, 2B!" a frantic voice responded. "We've got troop transports and Goliath-class walkers inbound. We won't hold without air support!"

"We'll handle the transports first," 2B said, her voice steady. She glanced at her radar, where three red markers—enemy transports—were closing fast on the Forward Operating Base. "9S, split off. Cover me. I'll take the transports."

"Got it," 9S yelled. "Don't get shot down!"

2B didn't respond. Her ho229 dipped low, skimming just above the battlefield. The first transport loomed ahead, a hulking Machine bristling with weapons, its smaller escorts swarming around it.

"Enemy troop transport locked," Pod 042 reported. "Recommend precision strike."

"Acknowledged." 2B banked sharply, energy fire streaking past her as the transport's defenses opened up. Her cannons roared to life, energy rounds tearing into the transport's left side. An engine detonated in a burst of flame, sending the massive Machine listing to one side.

She dove in, her energy blade igniting in a blinding arc. With a single, calculated strike, she severed the transport's remaining engine. The Machine groaned as it lost altitude, crashing into the desert below in a fiery explosion that consumed its escorts.

"One transport down," she reported, already turning toward the next.

Meanwhile, 9S weaved through a storm of enemy fire, his ho229 darting low to avoid detection. The second transport's turrets tracked him, unleashing a barrage of plasma rounds.

"Too slow!" he muttered, diving beneath the transport's massive frame. "Pod, fire missiles!"

"Firing," Pod 153 confirmed.

His missile pods unloaded, rockets slamming into the Machine's underbelly. Fire spilled from its hull as it broke apart, crashing in a flaming wreck.

"That's two," 9S called. "How's it going over there, 2B?"

"Busy!" 2B shot out.

The third transport was larger, its armor reinforced, its escorts swarming like hornets. Plasma fire streaked toward her as she charged head-on as she unloaded her cannons towards it. The transport's primary turret exploded in a burst of flame, leaving it vulnerable. 2B surged forward, her blade igniting once more. She struck with precision, slicing through its hull. The transport shuddered, smoke pouring from its frame as it plummeted to the sand in a fiery explosion.

"Third transport down," she reported. "Moving to assist ground forces."

The two ho229s swept low over the battlefield, their cannons tearing through enemy formations. Missiles streaked into clusters of Machines, sending debris flying as the YoRHa forces below rallied.

"Central, this is 2B. Enemy transports neutralized. You're clear to regroup and push forward."

"Copy that, 2B! Glory to Mankind!"

Below, the androids surged forward, tearing through the remaining Machines. From above, 2B watched as victory seemed all but certain.

Then the ground shook.

"What's happening?" a Defender model shouted, her voice sharp with panic. The ground beneath her trembled violently, ripples of sand cascading like waves. A sudden roar of shifting earth thundered across the battlefield, and then—without warning—the desert floor collapsed. A massive sinkhole yawned open, swallowing androids and Machines alike into the abyss.

Warning messages flashed in their visors, blaring in unison as an ominous, guttural hum rose from the depths.

"Warning," 042 intoned, its voice cold and steady amid the chaos. "Machine lifeform detected. Proposal: Retreat. Proposal: Retreat."

The comms erupted in screams. Some androids scrambled for footing as the ground caved beneath them, while others were pulled into the churning sands, their cries cutting off abruptly. A shadow stirred deep within the pit, growing larger as the rumble of machinery grew deafening.

It burst forth in an explosion of sand and metal.

A massive Machine erupted from the sinkhole, its segmented, caterpillar-like body towering into the sky. Jagged appendages clattered and twitched along its length, each one tipped with razor-sharp blades that gleamed beneath the sun. Its head, crowned with glowing red sensors, swiveled with an unnatural precision, scanning the battlefield.

Then it screamed.

The sound was deafening, a piercing shriek that rattled the air and drove the androids to their knees. They clutched their heads as the sound reverberated, their systems struggling to compensate against the auditory assault.

"What the hell is that?!" 9S shouted, his voice barely cutting through the cacophony.

"Analysis," Pod 153 responded, its tone clinical and detached. "Machine lifeform adapted for desert combat. Classification: Unknown. Proposal: Immediate tactical retreat."

The Machine reared back, its massive frame casting a long shadow across the battlefield. Its appendages ground against the sand, carving deep furrows as it readied to strike.

For a moment, the battlefield was silent except for the hum of its core and the faint static of fractured comms. Then it lunged.

​A defender model was its first victim. 12D cursed as she crawled out of the sinkhole. Then she screamed as one of the machine's appendages shot through and impaled her through her chest. Her scream was high-pitched and visceral as blood poured forth from her mouth, her artificial lungs torn and damaged. She gasped, her visor flickering as her systems began to fail. The Machine lifted her into the air like a trophy, her body twitching as sparks erupted from the wound.

2B could only watch, helpless as 12D's cries filled the comms. 

"HELP!" she screamed, her voice raw, desperate. "I don't want to di-urk!" The Machine's limb snapped her in half, cutting her cry short. Her shattered remains fell to the sand, lifeless, her face locked in tears and terror. 

2B bit her lip, fire coursing through her veins.

Rage. 

"9S!" she roared. "WE ARE GOING IN!" 

​9S did not complain. 

He screamed. "COPY!" 

They descended

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Lieutenant-Colonel Smith watched. His eyes flickered with the chaos of battle—flashes of steel, the blaze of fire, the endless clash of bodies and wills. Every cry, every shout, every scream, every death pierced his ears, sharp and unrelenting. It was visceral. Painful. Alive.

All for them.

He stared so long, so hard, that he didn't notice the groan of metal beneath his clenched fist. The table beneath him strained, warped by the force of his grip.

This was the plan.

Let them fight. Let them hold the line. Let them die so humanity could retreat. His mind screamed at him to stay still, to let the androids do what they were designed to do. This was their purpose. Their mission. Their sacrifice.

And yet, his body rebelled against his mind. His teeth sank into his lip, so deep the copper tang of blood filled his mouth.

A burning sensation flared in his chest, coiling through his stomach.

Shame.

Memories he had tried so hard to bury surged forward, vivid and merciless.

The glassing of Japan—civilians clawing at the escape ships, begging to be taken, their cries swallowed by the firestorm. He had done nothing.

The fall of Shanghai—Chinese soldiers hurling themselves at the Legion monstrosities, explosives strapped to their chests, just as their ancestors had done in a desperate bid for freedom during the Second World War. He had stood by.

The devastation of Manila. The silence of Singapore. The loss of so many cities, so many lives. The defiant cries of humanity ringing out against oblivion.

And still, he had done nothing.

Was this really how things were going to be? ity running away from the battle? Humanity letting their creations carry the fight?

Was humanity really going to let their children face the dark alone?

Were they really going to let them stand there, abandoned?

The answer became clear.

No.

No.

No!

Not alone. Not anymore.

His voice was weak, dry, but resolute. "Contact Commander White," he said simply.

Her face appeared on the screen, surprise etched across it. "Lieutenant-Colonel? Are you alright?"

It was only then Smith realized there were tears in his eyes. Shame-filled tears. He wiped them away with a rough hand. "Y-yes, just my eyes. The brightness was glaring," he lied. He drew in a steadying breath. "I am not blind, Commander. I see that monstrosity tearing through our lines."

White sighed, her face grim. "Records have been dug up, sir. The machine is an old weapon, designed for desert combat. I can send reinforcements, but it will leave the other FOBs vulnerable. We—"

Smith cut her off. "You're not the only one with forces to bear, Commander."

From the bunker, White froze. The hum of chatter in the Command Center fell silent.

Panic rose in her voice. "Sir, you cannot be serious. The loss of a human will be devastating!"

"My men and I are soldiers," Smith replied simply. "We know what sacrifice is. And besides, it's poor form to let brothers and sisters in arms die in front of us when we can do something about it."

White's throat felt wet and heavy, words failing her.

"The New World has carried this struggle for far too long, Commander," Smith declared. "Now, it is the Old World's turn—with all its power and might—to step forth and rescue the new."

"Sir, we-"

"No, Commander, No!" Smith exploded, seething and angry. "Either we go together to heaven, or we go hand in hand to hell!"

He cut the connection.

Smith rose from his seat, his body steady, his resolve unshaken.

No more running, not in this time. No more buckling to the cruelty of this cursed world. 

It was time to push forward

Time to scream out.

Time to rage

The Hammer of the Gods will fly again.

+++

The battle was spiraling into disaster.

2B charged headfirst, her flying unit unleashing everything it had—missiles streaking through the air, bullets carving through the battlefield, plasma bursts lighting up the desert sky. But the monstrosity didn't even flinch. It absorbed the assault like an unyielding wall of steel and muscle. Its armor, scorched and dented, remained intact.

Then it struck back.

A massive laser beam tore through the air, blindingly fast, and slammed into 2B's side engine.

Her 229 screamed as it spiraled out of control, smoke and fire trailing behind it like a dying comet.

"2B!" 9S shouted, his voice cracking with panic.

ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.

The flashing warnings flooded his HUD, but he ignored them, his hands trembling as he gripped the controls.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" 9S shrieked, his voice raw and desperate, as he pushed his 229 into a steep dive toward the monstrosity. His weapon systems blazed, emptying every last missile, every plasma burst in his arsenal into the beast. But it was no use. The machine was a fortress of impenetrable armor.

The monstrosity fired again.

A laser blast seared through his flying unit, tearing into its frame. Alarms screamed in his ears as the cockpit shook violently, shuddering with the impact. His 229 shuddered, groaned, then gave out—plummeting toward the desert sands below.

At the last possible moment, 9S ejected. The cockpit canopy blasted away in a hail of debris, sending him hurtling into the open air.

The crash came hard and fast.

9S hit the ground with a sickening thud, his body slamming into the desert sands. He skidded across the surface, leaving a deep trench behind him, before coming to a brutal stop. For a moment, everything was still.

Then the pain hit.

It exploded through him like fire, radiating from his core. He screamed, the sound raw and guttural.

Looking down, he saw it: a jagged piece of his own cockpit—a cruel shard of steel—had impaled him clean through the abdomen. Black fluid, his android blood, poured from the wound, staining the sand in dark streaks. His HUD flickered erratically, error messages spilling across his vision.

WARNING: CRITICAL DAMAGE. CORE COMPROMISED.

He tried to move, but the pain surged, sharp and unforgiving. Another scream tore from his throat, his voice broken and desperate. His systems began to falter, his thoughts fading into static. But one thought cut through the chaos:

2B.

He turned his head, vision swimming in a haze of light and shadow. In the distance, the wreckage of her 229 lay crumpled, smoke rising from its mangled remains.

"2B..." he choked, his voice trembling. "No... she's gone..."

The thought hit him harder than the crash. His hands trembled, his body shutting down. A sharp pang of regret coursed through him. He had failed her. He had failed everything.

His vision dimmed.

Then, through the haze, he heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow. Uneven. Heavy.

He forced his eyes open, his world a blur of light and shadow. For a moment, he thought it was the monstrosity, dragging itself through the sands to finish him off. But then—

"9...S..."

The voice was faint, strained—but unmistakable.

"2B?" he whispered, his voice shaking. He blinked, forcing his vision to focus. It was her.

Through the smoke and dust, 2B stumbled forward. Her dress was scorched, her body battered and broken. One arm hung limp at her side, and black fluid dripped from deep gashes along her legs. Each step looked like a battle, her movements slow and uneven.

But she was alive.

"2B!" 9S gasped, relief and disbelief flooding his voice. He tried to sit up, but the shard in his abdomen sent a fresh wave of agony through him, forcing him back down into the sand.

She reached him, collapsing to her knees beside him.

"S-stay still," she commanded, her voice firm despite the weakness in her tone.

"I... I thought you—"

"I am not... so easy... to kill," 2B said, her words clipped, her breaths labored.

Before he could respond, a sharp mechanical screech cut through the air. Both of them turned, their eyes locking on the monstrosity. It pulsed with energy, its hulking form snaking toward them through the sands like a beast savoring its victory.

"It... it's coming..." 9S choked, his voice barely a whisper.

2B's teeth clenched, her jaw tight with fury.

Not again. Not again!

She rose to her feet, a hiss of pain escaping her lips as her weapon, Virtuous Treaty, materialized in her hand.

"No more!" she yelled, her voice fierce. "Not anymore!"

9S's voice rasped behind her. "There's... we can... black boxes..."

Her eyes widened. Yes. If they connected their black boxes, they could annihilate the monstrosity in a nuclear hellfire. A fitting end for the monster.

But before she could act, her pod's voice rang out.

"Alert: Magical weapons from the Old World detected."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Magical weapons have a high probability of penetrating all defense systems."

Suddenly, thunder roared from the skies. A flash of light. Then a series of explosions rocked the battlefield as missiles slammed into the monstrosity, tearing into its unbreakable armor.

2B shielded herself as something massive landed beside her, kicking up a storm of dust and sand. When the air cleared, her eyes widened.

The machine towering beside her was twice her height, a battle-suit of sheer terror. Its black armor radiated power, its bulk casting a shadow over her. A smoothbore cannon rested on its left shoulder, belt-fed artillery shells glinting under the sun. Missile pods lined its right shoulder, and in its hands, it carried weapons of war: a multi-barreled gatling gun taller than 2B in one hand, and in the other, a claymore blade that gleamed with deadly precision.

The suit bore a UN on its chestplate, and on its shoulder pads, the unmistakable emblem of the United Nations—a globe encircled by a laurel wreath, painted in stark white.

A deep, distorted voice boomed from the machine.

"TARGETS IDENTIFIED."

The gatling gun began to spin, its whirring sound like the promise of death. The monstrosity froze, its many eyes locking on this new arrival, confusion and hesitation rippling through it.

"TARGETS LOCKED."

The gatling gun roared to life.

"FIRING"

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!

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A/N: GLORY TO MANKIND. GLORY TO MANKIND. GLORY TO MANKIND. 

Smith has lost his patience. There is only so much a man can take before shame takes him.