G Gundam Fan Fiction ❯ Rise, Crusade Gundam! ❯ Grounded. ( Chapter 8 )

Mark stared forward. His eyes met with those of Prime Minister Barclay, and in them he saw a reflection of himself. He seemed weary. Mark knew that feeling well. Mark was weary of being told what to do, how to fight. But none of that mattered to anybody else. All they cared about was Neo-England. Forget the fighter; praise the country that put him forward. He'd always thought that seemed a little strange, that the one who did the fighting became a celebrity for roughly a week, before being pretty much forgotten about. Considering it was the fate of the Earth they fought for, one would have thought the fighters would be deified.

 

How wrong he was.

 

After the match against Texas Gundam, Mark found himself quickly returned to Neo-England, for his serious breach of command. Now Mark sat before Prime Minister Barclay, his adoptive father, and saw nothing but disappointment.

 

“Mark...” Barclay closed his eyes, and softly exhaled. “I just don't understand. Why?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why did you ignore the advice of your strategist?”

 

“Why didn't I be a good little robot, you mean?”

 

“Mark...”

 

“Why am I being punished? For being a Gundam Fighter? For fighting? For what? Tell me, damn it!” With these words, Barclay got up, and shot Mark a look that made his blood boil.

 

“No, Mark. This is because of your failure to recognise authority. You directly disobeyed the advice of your strategist, and fought without informing the General. Rules you have been strictly informed of time and time again.” Mark returned the look, and slowly got up as he spoke.

 

“Yes. Authority. Always the authority. Everybody knows how to conduct oneself in a Gundam Fight, except the Fighter. How silly of me to think otherwise.” The sarcasm in his voice practically oozed from his lips.

 

“Mark, you listen to me! You are fighting for Neo-England! Not for yourself! Not for any petty notions of fame you might be entertaining in that thick skull of yours! For Neo-England!”

 

“Tell me then; what am I getting out of this?”

 

“I can't believe you! Are you really so narrow-minded?”

 

“Why? Because I dare to think that perhaps all the countries of the world shouldn't squabble over who rules? Maybe it'd be better if we have a unified world government! Then we wouldn't get psychos like the group from seven years ago trying to destroy the colonies, and usurp power for themselves!” With this, Barclay fell silent. Mark simply turned away, and began to leave the room.

 

“Mark, you are to go to Neo-Israel next. You are not to fight the Gundam there. You will merely observe.”

 

“And why Neo-Israel?”

 

“So you can see for yourself how a real Gundam Fighter fights. I have every faith in you, which is why I chose you over Graham as our representative, but until you learn how to fight in such a manner that victory is inevitable, you will remain under our orders. Understood?”

 

“...understood.” Mark slammed the door shut as he left, and wore an expression of disgust on his face as he walked down the corridors. He was sick of being treated like a child. Sick of being told what to do. Sick, most of all, of being unable to choose for himself without being put into situations like what had just happened. He didn't understand it. Mark Anderson, only hope of Neo-England, being molly-coddled into fights, rather than acting like the legendary fighters of old. He stopped at a large portrait of Gentle Chapman, and looked up.

 

A gold-framed painting, it was roughly 30 years old. It depicted Chapman, with his wife, standing before the Britain Gundam, holding a torch, lighting the way. How was he treated, Mark wondered, when he went into the survival elevens? Surely he went and fought as he pleased, and wasn't told merely to observe! But no, now Neo-England is a shadow of it's former self, controlled by an ageing prime Minister, and fighting for it, a boy with ambitions above his station. How pitiful. Mark reminded himself of an old saying he had heard while preparing for his first fight; “The sun will never set on the British Empire”. Granted, Neo-Scotland and Neo-Wales fought separately in the fights, and the unified Neo-Ireland was also separate from the United Kingdom, but the message of the saying still stuck.

 

Mark violently shook his head. Entertaining such thoughts was foolish. Mark knew it himself, that the separation between countries only led to war. He had studied it in history, how all conflicts had been formed due to barriers that separate humanity. But...a unified humanity was only a pipe dream. Especially in a world that glorified the Gundam Fight so. Mark wondered at times why he fought in the name of a cause that he despised. He originally thought it was for his friends. Those same friends who seem to have enslaved him. Perhaps he fought for himself. It was a mystery to even him.

 

As he stalked the hallways, he passed Graham. He attempted to make contact with Mark, but was brushed off. Mark simply kept walking, from the one only a day prior he had called 'friend'. He passed Kitchener too, and largely ignored his mutterings.

 

Finally, he had reached his room, and he threw himself into the covers. Sleep seemed the only escape from his troubles. His head felt fit to burst, under the sheer pressure of his thoughts. One image remained in his mind, long after he closed his eyes, however. The girl from Neo-Vatican. He hadn't forgotten her. It was doubtful he ever would.

 

As he drifted off to sleep, he began to wonder what had happened to his previous opponents. Vlad, Jean-Luc, Simon Peter...Those three seemed to be decent people, he mused. He knew they won't have been defeated. He came perilously close to defeat fighting each of them. Also, what about Jack McFarlane? He never got a chance to see him after the fight. He could only assume he'd been reprimanded pretty badly by the Neo-American government for losing. They weren't above cheap tricks when it came to victory, recalling the illegal use of the Statue of Liberty Cannon during the 16th fight, and the attempt to assassinate Domon Kashuu during the 13th fight. None of that mattered, though. He'd never see him again, he hoped.

 

As he awoke from his slumber, he picked up a newspaper, and looked at the front page. Vlad had won a battle in Neo-Italy, against the Centurion Gundam. Mark smiled, and felt genuinely glad. He remembered getting on very well with Vlad, and was pleased to hear he was doing alright. However, a single line caught his attention. It read of how Vlad's infamous 'Heart-Breaker' attack had been used, much to the delight of his fans. This was only the second time, in roughly 6 fights. When quizzed upon why he used this attack so sparingly, Vlad boasted how he saved it for only his toughest opponents.

 

On reading this, Mark clenched his fists, and threw the paper across the room.

 

“...only...the toughest opponents? I fought the bastard to a draw!” Mark yelled out in anger, and strode into his bathroom. Minutes later, he stalked out, fully dressed in one of his best suits, looking considerably cleaned up, and with an expression on his face that screamed determination.

 

As he rushed out of his room, he eagerly knocked on Barclay's door, and stepped in, bursting with confidence.

 

“Mark! What-what are you doing here?”

 

“The trip to Neo-Israel. When is it?”

 

“Uh...some time next week, I think. Why do you-”

 

“Think we can make it tomorrow?”

 

“Uh...certainly! Yes, yes...” Barclay quickly grabbed some sheets of paper, and began to make the necessary adjustments. “Tell me, son, what has changed your attitude so suddenly?”

 

“Let's just say I want to see what you all think a 'good' Gundam Fighter is.” Mark's voice became a hiss, and Barclay noted this. While he wouldn't say he was displeased by this sudden change of heart, he noticed Mark's intensity, a characteristic which may prove problematic. As he started to write, he saw Mark slowly leave the room, and the door shut behind him. Barclay dropped the pen, and put his head into his hands. Why, he wondered, why is he acting like this? Mark had always been a model son to him, loyal, and unquestionably faithful. Ever since he started training for the Gundam Fight, however, he'd become distant, and more independent. While this wasn't a bad thing in some respects, Barclay realised that should it continue, he may become a problem. The incident at Neo-America was indicative of this; while he had won, he was similarly far too close to defeat for comfort. Then his eyes whipped open.

 

“Oh no.”

 

The next day, Mark eagerly stepped onto a Core Lander, along with Graham, Kitchener, Haro, and the rest of the crew. It felt a little weird to be travelling without the Gundam, but Prime Minister's orders prevented that. It didn't matter too much to Mark, as he felt slightly excited at the prospect of seeing a Gundam Fight without being a participant.

 

As the core lander travelled the landscape with incredible speed, Mark sat back, and let his thoughts drift off into different directions. He'd heard very little about the Abaddon Gundam, which he would be watching. The fighter inside the mecha was largely unknown, and had fought only three times; and each time, victory came in less than a minute. He'd read up on reports given to him by Graham, which specified a sandstorm used to cloud the opponent's eyes, and also the ability to fly. Few Gundams had this trait, especially following the disastrous failure of Neo-Greece's Icarus Gundam of F.C 68, during the 15th Gundam Fight. It took far too much concentration for a fighter to both maintain the use of wings in the MTS, and simultaneously cope with a high-powered Gundam Fight. Hence, the fighter must be one of tremendous skill, Mark reasoned. He knew he certainly couldn't fight with enough skill to continue flying, and he didn't know of any other Fighter with that level of skill, or concentration, save possibly Simon Peter, or maybe even Vlad, who could manage to hover slightly in his Gundam.

 

Graham leaned over to Mark, and whispered in his ear.

 

“Hey...uh...you ok?”

 

“Don't worry about me, Graham. I'll get better.”

 

“Listen, I wanna say...”

 

“Sorry? No need. I did act out of order in Neo-America, I guess.”

 

“No argument here, pal! Just try not to lose your head again, ok?”

 

“Don't worry. My mind is set, now. I'm not gonna mess up.” Mark's face was the picture of determination, and Graham smiled, half in relief, half in joy, at seeing his friend back to his old self.

 

“That's good to hear, and I mean that.” Graham picked up Haro. “What do you think, Haro, old buddy?”

 

“Mark is set! Mark is set!”

 

“There you go. Haro speaking non-sensical rubbish again.” Mark chuckled. He reached over, and picked up the papers on Abaddon Gundam, which Graham had provided him with. “So, is this all you know about it? Any idea what weapons, moves, etc?”

 

“If you'd actually read it instead of looking at the pretty pictures, you'd see right here...” Graham pointed at a large block of text, “here is a run-down of its attacks, and possible defensive methods.”

 

“Gotcha.” Mark glanced at this list. Detailed were the primary weapons, based upon the measure of usage in fights, the secondary weapons, which tended to be used sparingly, but with a certain measure of power, and the 'trademark' moves, which are the flashy attacks that everybody remembers, such as Mark's George's Cross and the Bakanetsu God Finger of the God Gundam, for example.

 

For the Abaddon Gundam, the primary weapons were the shoulder vulcans, and the wings themselves, mainly as shields. The secondary weapons were the angelic sword, which was both fast and deadly, and the eye-beams, which although weak, were capable of halting many a Gundam's charge.

 

Finally, the 'trademark' moves; Angelic voice, a sub-sonic attack which bypasses any physical defence, and shatters the pilot's will to fight, and the Sword of Death, in which the sword becomes charged with energy, and is empowered to the level of hacking limbs off with the minimum of difficulty. Mark gulped as he read this. There was no doubt that this Gundam would get to the finals. This would have made life for Mark just that tiny bit more difficult. He recalled with bitterness how close he had been to defeat with Texas Gundam, and Jack was hardly a top-rated fighter, especially compared to his previous opponents. These thoughts troubled him as he drifted off to sleep.

 

Hours later, he awoke with a start. The party had reached Neo-Israel, in time for the Fight.

 

Today's scheduled battle was between the Abaddon Gundam, and the challenger, Gundam Khan of Neo-Mongolia. This fighter was regarded as a joke by the older fans, armed with nothing but a two-handed axe, and being so slow that most could dodge its attacks. However, even with this handicap, Neo-New Zealand's Kiwi Gundam fell to a single axe swing from this fighter.

 

Judging by the crowds, many had come to see the Gundam Abaddon, rather than its opponent. As Mark picked his way through the crowd, closely followed by General Kitchener and Graham (who was carrying Haro), he could see many familiar faces from the crowds, ones he'd seen merely in passing from the crowds of his own Gundam Fights. It felt weird to be sitting on the sidelines rather than in the ring itself, but Mark took it as a pleasant change, and felt he could relax rather than worry he'd let his nation down again. He also secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of the girl from before, but knew he wouldn't have a chance seeing her in such a crowd. Suddenly, a hand grasped his shoulder.

 

“Mark Anderson?” As he turned to face this person, his face lit up.

 

“Well, if it isn't Simon Peter!” Mark cried out, a little too loud for Simon Peter's comfort.

 

“Shhh! I'm trying to remain unnoticed here...” He was dressed in civvies, and wearing both a large hat and sunglasses, to cover his appearance. “It'd be too much of a commotion if they knew the Pope was watching this fight...”

 

“Sorry. So, what are you doing here?”

 

“I'm planning on seeing who this fighter is, that uses the names of the Bible in such a blatant manner...” His eyes narrowed. “S/he'd better be worthy...” As he shook his fists angrily, Mark spotted Kitchener and Graham rush over.

 

“Mark, what are you doing talking to the locals? We've picked out a great spot to see this match!” Graham grabbed Mark's shoulder, and pulled him away.

 

“Ugh...duty calls. See you around, Father!” Mark turned, and followed Graham.

 

“God be with you, Mark!” Simon Peter called out, and quickly realised his blunder as many turned their heads.

 

The three sat down, and Kitchener began to mutter.

 

“Remember, no fool-hardy challenging this Gundam to a fight like last time. Of course, it'll be difficult with Crusade Gundam being in Neo-England and all...” Mark felt like banging his head against a wall for roughly the seventh time that day. Haro began to make noises, and spun about on Graham's lap.

 

“Mark is irritated! Mark is irritated!” Mark put his head into his hands. Kitchener sniggered a little, and folded his arms.

 

“Taking a while to start this match, aren't they?” Kitchener loudly complained. Mark begged Graham to put a cork into his mouth, but his pleadings were to no avail. Luckily for all of them, the unmistakeable sounds of Gundams making their first moves sound became audible. Into the arena, two large mecha stood before each other.

 

On one side, the Gundam Abaddon. The white, seraphic wings covered the Gundam's body and head as it marched into the arena, and cloaked its appearance from all. Suddenly, it unfolded them in a single spectacular motion, dazzling all with its grandiose appearance. The body was a shade of purple/blue, in the form of chest-plate armour, and a covering of white. The light shimmered as it reflected from the armour-plating, lending a mystical air to this mecha.

 

On the opposite end, the Gundam Khan. A stark contrast to the elegant and polished exterior of the Gundam Abaddon, this Gundam was a dark and murky mix of brown, black, and red. Bulky in appearance, it lacked the definitive grace of its opponent, but possessed a rugged charm all its own. In order to compensate for the lack of speed, it was covered in heavy armour, and the feet had been specially prepared to hold down onto any terrain via special harnesses built into the feet.

 

There was relative silence between these two opponents, no witty banter, no greetings, not even a simple self-introduction. The tension hung heavily in the air. Slowly, Gundam Abaddon moved, positioning into a fighting stance. Gundam Khan responded in kind.

 

Seconds slowly ticked by. During this moment, all conversation between the fighters was strictly between them. For many, this was the tensest moment of the fight. Much like in ancient hunting rituals, many believed that the waiting was always harder than the battle itself. The audience certainly felt that way.

 

“GUNDAM FIGHT!”

 

“READY!”

 

“GOOOOOOOO!”

 

The initial clash was surprisingly weak. Gundam Abaddon surged forward, but broke away on contact, and fired the shoulder vulcans, hoping to soften the armour. Despite this, the Gundam Khan charged forwards, swinging its axe wildly. The audience shuddered, hearing the berserk war-cry of the fighter inside. However, this assault was clumsy, and ill-prepared. The Gundam Abaddon simply covered itself in one of the wings, and repelled the attack. This was followed by the mecha leaping into the air, and hovering just above the head of the Gundam Khan.

 

Many were quite surprised at the lack of communication between the fighters. The Neo-Mongolian was very vocal; yelling crude insults, and taunts, but the Neo-Israelian had remained completely tight-lipped throughout the entire fight. This had been observed in its previous fights, and some theorised it was a tactic designed to unnerve the opponent. Mark took special note, remembering hearing something about how Gundam Fights communicate with their fists, rather than words.

 

With the Gundam Abaddon floating just above the Gundam Khan's head, the fight had entered an entirely new level. Those who had watched previous fights knew this was the moment when the angelic Gundam would start on the offensive. Victory was guaranteed within the minute, now.

 

Its first move was to reveal the angelic blade, glowing with seraphic energy. Such was its strength, it managed to cleave the armour off with the minimum of ease. Gundam Khan stumbled around, swinging wildly, desperately trying to hit, but to no avail. Suddenly, the Gundam Abaddon's eyes began to glow: Again, everybody knew what would happen here. Diving down with incredible speed, it grabbed the Gundam Khan, and held it into the air. The sword, held in its other hand, turned black, and crackled with energy. With incredible speed, the head of Gundam Khan was sliced off in a single, quick motion. If anybody had blinked at the point, they'd have missed it.

 

Unusually, there was never any cheering when Neo-Israel won a fight, this year. Instead, the audience remained stunned into silence. Mark, on the other hand, bit his lip.

 

“So...that's what they want.” He got up, and began to leave the arena. “C'mon guys, I've got the message.” Kitchener smiled, twiddled with his moustache a little, and gave Graham a 'told you' look. Graham remained seated, however.

 

“Hey guys, wait, the fighter's coming out!” His appeal was a little too late, as they had walked out of earshot. Graham shrugged, and looked into the arena. On the cockpit of Gundam Abaddon stood a woman with long black hair, and an expression on her face that seemed to show...disappointment? Graham simply whistled. “What a looker! I'll bet Mark will kick himself when he hears about this...”