Sky Maidens - Prologue

The violet sky over Paris bled a radioactive, neon hue as the waters of the Seine boiled into thick, sulfurous steam.

From the center of the river, the Behemoth-class Kaiju roared. It was a shifting hill of obsidian hide, boasting a dozen jagged, crystalline eyes that pulsed with an ominous, sickly light. With a lazy swipe of its massive tail, the centuries-old stones of the Pont Neuf shattered into dust, sending a tidal wave of scalid water crashing into the storefronts along the riverbanks.

Suddenly, a thunderous sonic boom tore through the cloud cover.

"Out of the way, Brandt! Ground troops need a real hero, not a Prussian slide-rule!"

A streak of gleaming, polished chrome cut through the fog. Vicky Vance roared across the sky, the massive twin jet-turbines of The Star-Spangled Vanguard leaving a trail of white smoke in her wake. She didn’t bother aiming for a weak spot. Instead, she flared her oversized, star-emblazoned energy shield and rammed the Kaiju directly in its chest.

The impact was cataclysmic. The monster reeled backward, but Vicky’s trajectory sent her skidding across the cobblestones, her shield clipping the facade of a luxurious department store and shearing the entire stone awning clean off the building.

"Oops," Vicky muttered into her headset, her platinum pin-curls barely shifting beneath her leather flight helmet. She adjusted her bright red lipstick in her cockpit’s reflection. "My hand slipped. First blood is American, girls!"

"Du unverschämter Cowboy!" an angry, static-laced voice barked through the comms.

High above the chaos, perched precariously atop the roof of the historic Arc de Triomphe, stood Gretchen Brandt. The matte-grey and crimson armor of her Jaeger-01 locked into place with a series of heavy, hydraulic clicks. Gretchen pushed up the sleeves of her high-collared officer’s jacket, her sharp blue eyes squinting through her targeting monocle.

"You are ruining my firing solution, Vance!" Gretchen shouted, her German accent thickening with fury. "This requires precision engineering, not a brute-force circus!"

Gretchen slammed her foot down. The heavy flechette cannons on her shoulders erupted, unleashing a supersonic volley of Aetherium spikes into the Kaiju’s flank. The monster screamed as the projectiles detonated, but the violent, unmitigated recoil of Gretchen's massive cannons proved too much for the historic landmark beneath her. With a sickening crunch, a massive fracture split down the center of the Arc de Triomphe, sending chunks of ancient masonry raining down onto the Champs-Élysées.

Gretchen winced slightly, then clicked her tongue. "A minor structural anomaly. The target is neutralized by twelve percent."

Floating lazily at a comfortable three thousand feet, Geneviève "Gigi" de La Roche hummed a sultry French cabaret tune. Her white-and-gold Fleur-de-Lys suit drifted effortlessly through the air, her silk scarf fluttering in the turbine backdraft.

"Oh, cheer up, liebling," Gigi purred, casually adjusting the angle of a compact mirror to check her eyeliner while her mind-linked laser funnels swarmed around the Kaiju like angry hornets. "Paris looks much more dramatic with a little... debris, non?"

Gigi casually tapped a firing trigger. A blinding beam of concentrated Aetherium light lanced from the clouds. It struck the Kaiju's shoulder, but as the monster thrashed, Gigi's aim drifted. The stray beam sliced cleanly through the upper two floors of the Ritz Hotel, vaporizing a row of empty luxury suites instantly.

Gigi sighed, entirely unbothered. "Ah, c'est la vie. It was an ugly roof anyway."

The Kaiju, now blinded and bleeding glowing blue fluid, whipped its tail in a desperate circle. It lunged toward the remaining bridges, ready to tear the heart out of the city.

The radio went completely dead silent.

From the shadow of the low-hanging clouds, a matte-black meteor descended. Rei Kazama didn't announce her entry. She didn't argue. She simply fell.

The minimalist armor of the Shiranui hummed with a terrifying, silent energy. As she dove, a complex web of city power lines blocked her trajectory. Instead of veering off, Rei drew her twin thermal katanas. The glowing blades sliced through the heavy cables like butter. Instantly, sparks exploded across three major districts, plunging the entire Left Bank into absolute, pitch-black darkness.

Rei cleared the lines, hit the monster's neck at a hundred miles an hour, and twisted. With a clean, mathematical slice, the Kaiju’s massive head vanished from its shoulders, collapsing into the boiling Seine with a final, muddy splash.

Rei landed flawlessly on the riverbank, her black bob perfectly neat. She sheathed her blades with a soft clink.

"Target eradicated," Rei reported deadpan into the radio. "Total combat time: three minutes, fourteen seconds. Efficiency: optimal."

"OPTIMAL?!"

The roar inside the gold-leafed briefing room of the Allied High Command was significantly louder than the Kaiju had been.

The four Sky Maidens stood in a rigid line, though their postures told a different story. Vicky had her arms crossed, looking haughtily at the ceiling; Gretchen was glaring daggers at Vicky; Gigi was casually filing her nails; and Rei was staring with intense, unblinking focus at a plate of decorative pastries on the side table.

Behind the grand oak podium stood General Vance. His uniform was immaculate, his chest was pinned with a galaxy of medals, and his face was a dangerous, pulsing shade of purple. His thick mustache twitched violently as he slammed a massive stack of invoices onto the desk.

"A hundred and fifty million francs!" General Vance screamed, his voice cracking. "You defeated a single monster and managed to level a department store, fracture a national monument, black out half the city, and vaporize the penthouse of the Ritz! The French Prime Minister was crying in my office! He was tearing his hair out!"

Vicky rolled her eyes, her platinum curls bouncing. "Oh, Daddy, please. The Louvre is still standing. Mostly. You should be thanking us for living up to the family name."

"Do not bring your grandfather into this!" Vance barked, slamming his hand down. "General LeMay built the Strategic Air Command to destroy the enemy, Vicky, not to give the taxpayers a heart attack! You girls are completely uncontrollable. Your Aetherium signatures are running so hot from your constant bickering that you’re a walking public safety hazard. High Command has had enough."

Gretchen clicked her boots together, her jaw tight. "Herr General, you cannot ground us. We are the finest engineering the alliance has to offer. Who will protect the coastlines?"

A slow, terrifyingly vengeful smile slowly spread across General Vance’s face. He picked up a fountain pen, uncapped it, and signed a heavy set of transfer documents with an aggressive flourish.

"Oh, you're still protecting a coastline, Brandt," Vance growled, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. "Just a very, very quiet one. Effective immediately, the Misfit Squadron is banished from the European theater. Pack your bags, ladies. You're being deployed to a reserve airfield in the Pacific Northwest."

Vicky blinked, her haughty facade slipping for a fraction of a second. "The Pacific Northwest? Is there even a shopping district there?"

"There is fog, there are pine trees, and there is an empty hangar," the General smiled coldly. "No press, no luxury hotels, and absolutely no champagne. Dismissed."