Base Busters
Two Days Later – A Marked Ace
Furina had made one hell of a first impression.
Out of the eight pilots in Drowned Squadron, only two had come around.
Clorinde. TAC Name: Rapperia.
Wriothesley. TAC Name: Wolfbite.
The rest? Still unconvinced.
To them, her performance two days ago had been nothing more than a fluke.
A one-time display of skill that would never be repeated.
She heard the whispers.
"She just got lucky."
"One mission doesn't make an ace."
"She'll crash and burn eventually."
They still saw her as a convict. A murderer. A pawn to be used and discarded.
But it didn't matter.
Because despite everything—
Furina was an Ace once more.
No prison sentence, no death sentence, no amount of judgment could erase that.
She had been born to fly.
And if this cursed squadron thought they could break her—
They were fucking wrong.
Afternoon – Base Flight Line
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a dull glow over the airbase. The wind howled through the open tarmac, cutting sharp and cold like a blade. The constant roar of fighter jets echoed in the distance—some launching, some landing, others undergoing maintenance.
Furina stood beside her Dassault Rafale M, its sleek airframe shimmering under the fading light. The low hum of the electrical system filled the air—a quiet, mechanical heartbeat pulsing through the jet's frame.
She leaned against the front left canard, arms crossed, fingers tapping idly against her flight suit.
Her icy blue eyes fixated on the horizon.
Somewhere beyond it, another battle awaited.
Another mission.
Another chance to prove them all wrong.
For the first time since arriving in Drowned Squadron, a strange sense of peace settled over her.
A fragile moment of silence.
But it changed nothing.
She was still part of Teyvat's 51st Spare Squadron.
A squadron of criminals.
Disposable pilots.
She closed her eyes and exhaled.
Then—**without thinking—**she began to hum.
A melody.
A tune she had composed last night, playing over and over in her mind.
Her own leitmotif.
But it had no name.
Not yet.
Then—just as suddenly as she started, she stopped.
Her eyes flickered open again, sharp and alert.
She let out a quiet breath.
"Accept it, Furina… this is your new life now."
She rolled back her left sleeve and checked her watch.
Her familiar Speedmaster.
Navy blue NATO strap.
2:30 PM.
She sighed, rolling the sleeve back down.
Time to go.
Without another word, she turned and walked away from the Rafale, heading toward the briefing room.
Briefing Room – Mission Briefing
The room was already filled by the time Furina arrived.
Seven other pilots. Some standing, some sitting, all waiting.
She scanned the room for a seat.
There was one.
Between Clorinde and Wriothesley.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then—reluctantly—she made her way over and sat down between them.
No one spoke.
Then—Commander Jakob entered.
The large holographic display behind him flickered to life, illuminating the Teyvat map with various markers and enemy positions.
"Alright," Jakob began, his voice sharp and authoritative.
"First off—good work defending the base two days ago. Especially you, Waltz."
Furina barely reacted, offering the slightest nod in acknowledgment.
Then, Jakob's gaze shifted.
Right to Albert.
Drowned Four. TAC Name: Stalker.
Jakob's expression twisted into a sneer.
"Except for you."
Albert straightened, lips parting—
Jakob raised a single finger.
"Shut that fucking trap of yours, Stalker. You give me the creeps."
Albert exhaled sharply and slumped back in his chair, defeated.
Jakob didn't even look at him again.
He turned back to the display.
"It doesn't matter. You're all still here to atone for your crimes. So listen up."
The map zoomed in, highlighting a frozen, desolate landscape marked with three enemy bases.
"Your mission today is to hit these Snezhnayan bases in the snowy plains of Kholodnyy Udar."
Three red circles appeared over the map.
"Your job isn't to destroy them—"
Jakob's smirk was cruel.
"—It's to piss them off."
A few pilots exchanged uneasy glances.
"You will attack and provoke them. Make them fire. Get them to reveal their anti-air strategies. Burn through their ammunition. The more they shoot at you, the more intel we gather."
The map shifted again. A blue line extended from the southwest.
"For this mission, we've set up a frontline base for resupply."
Then—
Jakob turned back to them, his smirk widening.
"But you cons don't get that luxury."
Silence.
"If you replenish your weapons, you're thrown into solitary. Only the regular forces get to rearm. You run out of ammo? Tough shit. Find a way to survive. You have flares for a reason. Use them."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And don't forget—"
His voice dropped to something colder.
"You are nothing more than decoys."
No one spoke.
Jakob let the words linger.
Then—
"Everyone, sortie now. Dismissed."
He turned and walked out.
The pilots stood and began filtering out of the room.
Except for three.
Furina.
Clorinde.
Wriothesley.
Clorinde and Wriothesley stood, glancing at Furina.
She remained seated, arms crossed.
Clorinde exhaled.
"Furina. Come on. Let's go."
Furina scoffed.
"Oh. So we're friends now?"
Clorinde pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Come on, Furina. I already apologized, didn't I?"
For a moment, Furina said nothing.
Then—slowly—she pushed herself up from the chair.
"Yeah… sure."
She turned and walked ahead, stepping right between them.
Clorinde and Wriothesley exchanged a look.
Clorinde shook her head.
Wriothesley sighed.
"You really left an impression on her, huh?"
Clorinde rolled her eyes.
"Shut your trap, Wolfbite."
With that, the two followed behind.
Out onto the flight line.
Where their aircraft awaited.
Where another mission—another fight for survival—was about to begin.
The Sun Sets on the Mission
The sun hung low on the horizon, bleeding deep orange and crimson hues across the tarmac as Drowned Squadron rolled toward the apron. The fading daylight stretched their shadows long across the worn concrete, casting dark silhouettes against the battle-scarred airframes.
Every aircraft in the lineup bore the scars of relentless combat—scorched paint, patched-over bullet holes, haphazard repairs barely keeping them flightworthy. Some panels rattled in the wind, others bore the uneven finish of field-applied epoxy and rivets. These weren't frontline jets. They were ghosts of war, stitched together and sent back into the fight, time and time again.
And yet—one jet stood out among them.
Furina's Dassault Rafale M.
Still pristine.
Still immaculate.
As if it had just rolled off the production line.
The only difference?
Three fresh kill marks.
Bold, crimson stripes, meticulously painted on the tail. A silent declaration of the ace who flew it.
Strapping In—The Calm Before the Storm
Furina ascended the Rafale's built-in ladder, the metal groaning softly beneath her boots. Each step was deliberate, her motions fluid and practiced—like an artist preparing to paint.
She lowered herself into the ejection seat with the same precision, every movement automatic yet purposeful. The harness came next, straps cinched tight across her flight suit.
Then, her hands found her helmet.
She hesitated.
For a brief moment, she simply stared at the visor. The glossy surface reflected her face, distorted slightly by the curve.
A mask staring back at her.
Her lips barely moved as she whispered to herself, voice low but resolute:
"Il est temps de les montrer à nouveau. Qui est vraiment l'as."
(It's time to show them again. Who the real ace is.)
Without another thought, she pulled the helmet over her head. A crisp click echoed inside the cockpit as the seal locked in place. The oxygen mask followed, the soft hiss of the system pressurizing filling the small space around her.
A glance at the multifunction displays. All systems green.
The flight plan was already set:
Korovograd AFB. (Home.)
The Makeshift Forward Base. (Rearming point—for everyone but them.)
The Three Enemy Bases. (The real targets.)
The canopy hissed as it lowered, sealing her within. The world outside grew distant, muffled.
Then—her engines.
Twin M88s spun to life, the deep whine swelling into a low growl, then a full-bodied roar as they settled into idle thrust. The Rafale shuddered slightly, almost eager to move.
Tower control crackled to life.
"Drowned Squadron, taxi out to the runway."
One by one, the aircraft rolled forward, each sending faint ripples through the pooling heat haze.
Drowned Five.
Then Drowned Seven.
Four. Eight. Six. Three. Two.
Furina—the lead flight—was last.
Not because it was planned that way.
Nobody cared who went first.
That was the chaos of being a Spare.
They weren't heroes.
They weren't elite.
They were disposable.
But Furina?
She had no intention of being thrown away.
Kholodnyy Udar - The Mission
By the time they breached enemy airspace, the sun was dipping below the horizon, bleeding amber and violet hues across the sky. The last remnants of daylight cast long, jagged shadows over the landscape, draping the battlefield in a dim, eerie glow.
Then, the radio crackled.
"Huh… Some welcome," AWACS Justice muttered, his voice tinged with dry amusement.
Then, his tone hardened.
"Commence the mission. Spread out and destroy all targets."
The orders had barely landed before Drowned Seven chimed in.
"Just like before. Destroy the targets. This is getting lame, Justice."
"Shut your trap, Drowned Seven," AWACS snapped back.
Then came the usual reminder—
"And remember—you are prohibited from flying to the makeshift base to replenish your weapons. You run out, you defend. That's why your planes have flares. Use them. Do not forget—you're just some decoys."
A sharp scoff. Then, Clorinde's voice cut through the comms, venom laced in every syllable.
"If you want us to destroy the targets, then maybe next time, FILL OUR DAMNED PLANES WITH WEAPONRY!"
Furina's eyes narrowed.
Enough talking.
She shoved the throttles forward.
Her Rafale M snarled as it surged ahead, breaking formation in an instant. The sky blurred around her as she carved through the air, the afterburners leaving twin streaks of fire in her wake.
"Let's begin."
The First Strike – The Airbase
The first enemy stronghold emerged from the haze—
A fortified airbase, its runways already alive with scrambling fighters.
Two Su-25s had just begun their takeoff roll, engines screaming as they fought to get airborne.
Not today.
Furina pulled her Rafale into a sharp climb, the G-forces pressing her into the seat as the engines roared. The entire airfield shrank beneath her, transforming into a grid of runways, hangars, and fuel depots.
Then—**in a split-second maneuver—**she rolled over and dove.
The HUD flickered to life. Targeting system online.
Four locks acquired.
Two Su-25s, mid-takeoff.
Two Tu-95 bombers, refueling on the ground.
"Bombs away."
The cluster munitions detached from her hardpoints and streaked downward.
Direct hits.
The Su-25s never made it off the runway. A split second before liftoff, the first jet disintegrated in midair, a fireball ripping through its fuselage. The second pitched violently as its wing was torn apart, flipping over before smashing into the tarmac in a violent explosion.
The Tu-95s never stood a chance.
The instant the ordnance struck, their fuel stores erupted, sending a blue-tinged fireball surging across the airfield. Shrapnel and debris rained down like meteorites, secondary explosions rocking the surrounding hangars.
The radio exploded with chatter.
"Rocking it hard, Waltz!" Drowned Eight howled.
"Cut it out, Drowned Eight," AWACS barked. "There's still a mission to do!"
Furina didn't reply.
She was already banking hard, resetting her approach. The next wave of targets loomed ahead, bathed in the glow of burning wreckage.
Switching to LACMs.
Control tower.
Industrial fuel tank.
Radar station.
"Fox Three."
Three missiles away.
Three direct hits.
The control tower collapsed, its shattered glass and steel crumpling onto the runway.
The fuel tank detonated, sending a roaring inferno skyward.
The radar dish buckled, sparks flying as it flickered and died.
The first base was gone.
A Squabble Amongst Spares
Then, the radio crackled again.
"Spare Four, out of weapons. Re-supplying."
AWACS didn't even hesitate.
"Nice try, Stalker. But you don't get that luxury."
Clorinde snorted.
"But you want us to destroy these bases, no?~"
Justice exhaled, long and sharp.
"You'd wish this mission would never end."
Then Drowned Five chimed in.
"Hey, hey! Looks like Justice has come around!"
While the rest bickered, Furina was already setting up her next strike run.
The enemy was scrambling. The sky was becoming a battlefield.
Her next target?
A mountainside airbase.
And she was coming for it.
Kholodnyy Udar – The Mission
By the time they reached enemy territory, the sun had begun to set, streaking the sky with amber and violet, casting long shadows over the frozen landscape below.
Then, the radio crackled to life.
"Huh… Some welcome," AWACS Justice muttered, his voice laced with dry amusement.
Then, his tone hardened.
"Commence the mission. Spread out and destroy all targets."
The orders barely landed before Drowned Seven chimed in.
"Just like before. Destroy the targets. This is getting lame, Justice."
"Shut your trap, Drowned Seven," AWACS snapped.
Then came the usual reminder.
"And remember—you are prohibited from flying to the makeshift base to replenish your weapons. You run out, you defend. That's why your planes have flares. Use them. Do not forget—you're just some decoys."
A sharp scoff. Then Clorinde's voice cut through the channel.
"If you want us to destroy the targets, then maybe next time, FILL OUR DAMNED PLANES WITH WEAPONRY!"
Furina's eyes narrowed.
Enough talking.
She slammed the throttles forward, breaking formation as her Rafale surged ahead, cutting through the sky like a blade.
"Let's begin."
The First Strike – The Airbase
The first enemy base came into view.
A fortified airfield, its runways lined with fighters scrambling to take off.
Two Su-25s had just started their roll, desperately trying to get airborne.
Not today.
Furina yanked the Rafale into a steep climb, engines roaring as she ascended high above the base.
Then—in a split-second maneuver—she snapped into a vertical dive.
Targeting system online.
Four locks acquired.
Two Su-25s, mid-takeoff.
Two Tu-95 bombers, refueling on the ground.
She flicked the bomb release.
"Bombs away."
Direct hits.
The Su-25s erupted mid-air, flaming debris scattering across the tarmac.
The Tu-95s detonated in a blue-tinted fireball, their fuel stores igniting in a chain reaction.
The radio exploded with chatter.
"Rocking it hard, Waltz!" Drowned Eight howled.
"Cut it out, Drowned Eight," AWACS barked. "There's still a mission to do!"
Furina didn't acknowledge them.
She was already circling back, eyes on her next targets.
Switching to LACMs.
Targets locked:
Control tower.
Industrial fuel tank.
Radar station.
A row of parked MiG-29s.
Three missiles away.
Three direct hits.
The control tower collapsed, glass and steel raining onto the runway.
The fuel tank erupted, sending flames licking high into the sky.
The radar dish crumpled, sparks flying as it went offline.
The MiG-29s—still grounded—were engulfed in fire, their cockpits melting into slag.
The first base was obliterated.
A Squabble Amongst Spares
Then, the radio crackled again.
"Spare Four, out of weapons. Re-supplying."
AWACS didn't even hesitate.
"Nice try, Stalker. But you don't get that luxury."
Clorinde snorted.
"But you want us to destroy these bases, no?~"
Justice sighed, frustration evident.
"You'd wish this mission would never end."
Then Drowned Five chimed in.
"Hey, hey! Looks like Justice has come around!"
While the rest of them bickered, Furina was already moving.
She cut through the sky, her next targets already locked into her mind's crosshairs.
Her next target?
A mountain-side airbase.
The Mountain Assault
Then, a panicked voice over comms.
"Hey! Where did the airbase go?!"
AWACS Justice sounded unimpressed.
"While you were waddling around, Drowned One took them all out."
Clorinde chuckled.
"Waltz did most of the work, Wolfbite."
AWACS scoffed.
"Why are you so proud of that, Rapperia?"
As Furina veered toward the next target, her mind was clear.
She wasn't flying to prove herself anymore.
She wasn't fighting for their approval.
She was an ace—a real one.
And tonight, she would remind everyone exactly what that meant.
Furina dove.
Her Rafale M sliced through the cold evening air, engines roaring as she descended toward the enemy storage facilities and anti-aircraft batteries tucked against the mountainside's exposed face.
Targeting system locked.
With a flick of her thumb, she unleashed a salvo of Long-Range Air-to-Ground Missiles (LACMs).
The moment the missiles struck—
A wall of fire erupted.
The storage depots detonated in a massive chain reaction, sending barrels and supply crates sky-high before they were obliterated mid-air. The AA emplacements crumbled under the force, shrapnel and metal debris scattering across the rocky terrain.
AWACS Justice's voice cut in, sharp and efficient.
"Bullseye, Waltz."
Furina barely acknowledged it as she pulled into a tight banking turn, circling around for another pass.
Then, the radio crackled again.
"Hey! We need ground troops! It's hard attacking in these mountains!"
That was Drowned Six, his frustration evident.
AWACS let out a long sigh.
"While you were dancing around in the skies, Waltz took out an entire enemy facility. Are you sleeping? Jesus Christ."
A chuckle from Drowned Seven.
"I might have to rethink the odds again."
Furina didn't care.
She was already locked onto her next targets.
Another volley of LACMs screamed from her wings.
Targets locked:
AA emplacements.
Armored tanks.
APCs.
Fuel depots.
A convoy of supply trucks.
The missiles found their marks—reducing them all to burning wrecks in a series of controlled detonations.
She looped around once more, this time aiming for the valley nestled between two towering ridges.
Her new targets?
A reinforced bridge, critical for enemy supply lines.
A SAM site, nestled against the cliffside.
Another heavily fortified warehouse.
Furina switched to precision bombing mode.
One bomb.
One impact.
The bridge collapsed, chunks of concrete and steel raining down into the valley below.
AWACS Justice confirmed the kill immediately.
"That's another base destroyed."
Then, Drowned Four's voice cut in, exasperated.
"Seriously? Leave some for us, Waltz!"
AWACS snapped back.
"So far, you don't have the right to talk about 'leaving some' for you. Everyone else has taken out targets. Meanwhile, you're prancing around up there, with zero—nada—zilch! Get your ass in gear, or I'm throwing you back into solitary confinement!"
Furina ignored them.
She was already adjusting her bearing to 285—heading straight for the largest enemy base yet.
This wasn't just another mission.
Tonight, she would burn their war machine to the ground.
The next base was massive—a sprawling military complex built into the mountain's rugged terrain, bristling with defenses and packed with high-value targets. Furina's targeting display lit up in a sea of red indicators.
Warehouses.
Fuel storage depots.
Troop barracks.
SAM batteries.
Armored columns.
Radar stations.
A fortress designed to withstand a siege.
She lined up her shot.
A flick of her thumb—Missiles away.
A salvo of Long-Range Air-to-Ground Missiles (LACMs) streaked from her Rafale's underbelly, cutting through the night sky like meteor trails before slamming into their targets.
Impact.
A firestorm erupted across the base.
The warehouses were the first to go, their thin metal structures caving in as secondary explosions rattled the complex. The industrial fuel tanks ruptured in unison, igniting in a single, cataclysmic detonation—a fireball so massive it illuminated the entire valley. A towering shockwave ripped through the outpost, vaporizing everything within a 500-meter radius.
Debris rained from the heavens.
The radio exploded with chatter.
"Holy shit! Big explosion! Who the hell did that?!" Clorinde barked.
Then, Wriothesley's voice chimed in, deadpan.
"Looks like Waltz did it. She's the closest."
Furina was on a rampage.
Every expectation was shattered as she carved a path of destruction through the mountains. No hesitation. No wasted movement. She was systematically erasing every trace of the enemy's presence—target after target, facility after facility—until nothing remained but smoke and ruin.
And not once had she spoken.
Then, a groan from Drowned Four.
"Furina, come on. You gotta say something."
For the first time, she did.
"Ferme ta foutue gueule, Noyé Quatre."
Silence.
Then—
"…What the hell did she just say?"
Wriothesley chuckled over the comms.
"It means… shut your goddamned mouth."
Laughter erupted across the squadron.
But Furina wasn't finished yet.
She dipped her nose and banked low, hugging the mountainside like a phantom. Terrain blazed past beneath her belly as she locked onto her next target—
A reinforced tunnel carved into the rock face, large enough to house an entire squadron of aircraft.
Her radar confirmed multiple heat signatures inside.
Her next victims were waiting.
No hesitation.
Furina nosed down, aligning her sights.
30mm cannon—armed.
Her finger tightened over the trigger.
BRRRRT!
A storm of tracers ripped into the tunnel's entrance, carving through anything unlucky enough to be inside.
A MiG-29.
A Su-33.
A fully fueled Tu-22M bomber.
All hit. All ignited.
Fuel lines ruptured. Munitions inside the hangar cooked off—
BOOM.
The detonation rocked the entire mountain. Fire and metal shrapnel burst from the tunnel's mouth as the structure collapsed in on itself, sealing the inferno inside.
Then—
"Drowned One lost! She's a goddamned idiot!" AWACS Justice barked.
A flicker of panic over the comms—
Until Wriothesley's voice cut in, sharp and urgent.
"No! She flew under the tunnel! I see smoke coming from the far end!"
Silence.
Then—
A deep blue-and-white streak tore into view, afterburners blazing like the eyes of a ghost.
AWACS confirmed.
"Drowned One, contact reestablished."
The radio exploded.
Clorinde cackled.
"Now THAT'S how an ace flies! THAT'S dedication!"
Furina smirked beneath her oxygen mask.
Mission accomplished.
But the battle was far from over.
The Storm Breaks – The Drone Onslaught
Then, the radio crackled.
AWACS Justice's voice sliced through the static, razor-sharp.
"Multiple bogeys! Fast movers inbound from the south!"
Not enemy fighters.
Not human pilots.
Drones.
Silence.
Then—
"WHAT!?"
"Drones!?"
Furina's fingers clenched around the throttle.
"You've GOT to be shitting me… DRONES!?"
AWACS didn't even flinch.
"Shut your trap, Drowned Squadron. Take out all hostiles."
Furina exhaled sharply.
"Engaging."
She slammed the throttle forward.
Her Rafale roared ahead, afterburners lighting up the darkness.
She was going in first.
Straight for the swarm.
"WALTZ! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
Wriothesley's voice cracked through the comms—
But Furina didn't respond.
She was locked in.
Tone. Lock. Fire.
"Fox Three!"
Three long-range missiles streaked forward, their exhaust trails cutting through the sky.
She snapped the stick left, throwing her Rafale into a brutal 90-degree bank. G-forces crushed against her chest, blurring her vision at the edges.
Then—detonation.
AWACS confirmed.
"Drowned One, splash three."
Clorinde's voice wavered.
"Splash three… is she insane!?"
Then Wriothesley, sharp with warning—
"Rapperia! Do NOT trigger Waltz!"
Furina twitched.
"Do not trigger Waltz, huh…?"
She cracked her neck, a razor-sharp grin spreading across her face.
"Alright then… let's play."
Clorinde facepalmed against her helmet.
"Oh no…"
The drones split apart, breaking formation like a swarm of mechanical wasps. Their programming adapted instantly—adjusting to Furina's movements with inhuman precision.
But she didn't care.
She was faster.
More skilled.
More than just a machine.
First Blood – The Price of War
Then—
"SOMEONE'S BEHIND ME! GET IT OFF MY TAIL!"
Drowned Seven.
A drone had locked onto him.
Then—missile launch.
A direct hit.
His MiG-25 lurched violently, flames bursting from the fuselage.
"DAMN IT, I'M HIT!"
He was still flying—barely.
Then—
Another missile.
Drowned Eight's voice screamed through the radio.
"DROWNED SEVEN, INBOUND—!"
Too late.
A fireball.
The radio cut to static.
Silence.
Three long, heavy seconds.
Then—AWACS confirmed it.
"Drowned Seven, lost."
The squadron erupted.
"WHAT!?"
"NO!"
"SHIT!"
Then—AWACS snapped.
His voice was ice-cold.
"Don't piss your damn pants over one plane down. Continue with the mission."
No time to mourn.
No time to grieve.
Just war.
Furina tightened her grip on the sidestick.
These drones weren't normal.
They weren't just standard MQ-99s.
They were more advanced.
More aggressive.
And for the first time since the battle began—
A single thought flickered through her mind.
Something is very, VERY wrong.
She exhaled sharply, shaking off the moment.
It didn't matter.
She would burn every last one of them to the ground.
She rolled right, leveling out—
More drones.
More targets.
More chances to remind them exactly who she was.
She fired.
And the slaughter began.
The squadron was in shambles.
The battle wasn't over—
But the cowards were already running.
"Drowned Six, retreating!"
"Drowned Eight, retreating!"
"Drowned Four, retreating!"
"Drowned Five, retreating!"
Furina's blood boiled.
Her breath seethed through gritted teeth.
She roared into the comms, voice dripping with rage.
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!? YOU'RE GONNA LEAVE US HERE!?"
They were abandoning them.
Leaving her, Clorinde, and Wriothesley alone.
The last three standing.
Her grip on the sidestick tightened—
Then—tone. Lock. Fire.
Two more drones gone.
Her kill count: Four.
She wasn't stopping.
She would tear them all apart.
"I'm getting behind Waltz."
Wriothesley's voice came through, steady and determined.
"Right. Stick with the best, and you might just make it."
Clorinde followed, her usual bravado now laced with something new.
Respect.
Then, the squadron struck back.
"Splash one, Wolfbite!"
"Splash one, Rapperia!"
The Impossible Kill
Furina's cockpit erupted with alarms.
"MISSILE! MISSILE!"
AWACS shouted.
"Waltz! Evade!"
She smirked.
"Watch this."
Her fingers slammed the spoileron control.
The canards twisted up.
The inner elevons moved up.
The outer elevons moved down.
She yanked the sidestick back.
Then—one brutal kick to the rudder pedal.
Her Rafale did the impossible.
A 90-degree pull-up.
A full 360-degree yaw.
The enemy drone overshot.
Big mistake.
Her nose dropped.
Gun sights locked.
She squeezed the trigger.
BRRRRTTTT!!
Direct hits.
The drones shredded apart, their wreckage spiraling down into the abyss, erased from existence.
Silence.
Then—AWACS sounded almost disbelieving.
"Waltz, splash two. Four to go."
Clorinde watched in horror.
"WHAT IN THE—SHE GOT A MACHINE GUN KILL WITH THAT MANEUVER!?"
Furina didn't care.
She was already hunting her next prey.
Furina locked onto a lone drone.
Then—it pitched up.
A trap.
Furina reacted instantly.
She yanked the stick back into a hard vertical climb.
The drone snapped downward—a vertical dive.
Furina engaged the spoilerons again.
She rolled over and dove straight after it.
Tone. Lock. Fire.
"Fox Two!"
The missile streaked forward.
A direct hit.
Another splash.
AWACS confirmed it immediately.
"Another splash for Waltz."
Then—
"Splash one, Rapperia."
"Splash one, Wolfbite."
The battle was ending.
But then—Clorinde screamed.
"Shit! A drone on my six! Someone take it out!"
Wriothesley tried.
Missile away—
Then, a shrill alarm.
"Ammunition zero."
Wriothesley groaned.
"Shit! I'm out of ammo!"
Furina snapped her eyes up.
She saw it.
The drone locked onto Clorinde's tail.
The missile was seconds from launch.
Furina's grip tightened.
Her voice was calm.
Deadly.
"Not today, you metal fuck."
Tone. Lock. Fire.
A direct hit.
AWACS confirmed it.
"The last drone is down."
The battle was over.
The Return to Base
AWACS gave the final order.
"You've hit the enemy base enough. Operation complete. RTB."
Then—a warning.
"As for those who retreated… they'll wish they were never born.
Waltz, Rapperia, and Wolfbite—you get a pass."
Furina let out a breath.
She pulled into a hard 180-degree turn.
Heading home.
As she stabilized into a cruising formation, Clorinde and Wriothesley pulled up beside her.
They formed an element.
Furina glanced left.
Glanced right.
Her brow furrowed.
"What the hell are you two doing?"
Clorinde chuckled.
"Come on, Waltz! You got Ace again!"
Wriothesley clapped over the radio.
"Well done, Waltz. Come on, lighten up a bit!"
Furina glanced at the small mirror inside her canopy.
She reached up.
Removed her mask.
And stared at herself.
Ace. Again.
Then—
A small smile.
She whispered to herself.
"Good going, Furina…"
"At this rate…"
"You might just make it…"
She had changed.
Maybe flying here wasn't so bad after all.
But.
It didn't change one thing.
She was still a murderer.
Well.
At least—
To the eyes of the Teyvat Union Peacekeeping Force.
And that?
That was the real battle she had to win.
The Landing – A Victory Tainted
The three lone fighters touched down on the icy runway of Korovograd Air Force Base, their wheels skidding against the frozen tarmac before rolling to a steady stop.
This landing felt different.
Not because of the howling winds cutting through the snow-covered landscape.
Not because of the distant echoes of jet engines winding down.
But because Furina had finally earned something in this godforsaken place.
Respect.
She taxied her Rafale M to its designated spot, parking beside Clorinde's Su-27 and Wriothesley's Mirage 2000-5.
The other aircraft were already there.
The cowards.
They had landed first—after running like frightened dogs when the drones came.
Furina exhaled sharply.
She pulled off her helmet and mask, resting them in her lap.
Her pulse still hammered in her ears.
Ace. Again.
And yet—none of it mattered.
Because in the eyes of the Teyvat Union Peacekeeping Force…
She was still a murderer.
The Debriefing – Judgment Passed
The three of them—**Furina, Clorinde, Wriothesley—**stepped into the Briefing Room.
Commander Jakob was already there.
His expression? Stone cold.
His gaze? A razor-sharp blade that cut through the retreating pilots sitting stiffly in their seats, awaiting judgment.
Then, he spoke.
"Alright. Rapperia. Wolfbite. Waltz.
Mission accomplished.
Job well done. You three get a pass."
Silence.
The trio stood motionless.
Then—his gaze shifted.
His expression darkened.
"As for the rest of you—"
His voice dripped with disgust.
"Some of you ran to the resupply base.
The rest of you retreated like fucking pussies."
A few pilots tensed, shifting in their seats.
Eyes darting away.
No one dared speak.
Jakob's glare burned into them.
Then—his next words sealed their fate.
"So how about you think about your actions… in solitary?"
The air turned ice-cold.
A heavy silence.
Then—
"Take them away."
The doors slammed open.
Armed guards flooded in.
The retreating pilots barely had time to react before they were hauled out of their seats.
Dragged away like criminals.
No protest.
No plea.
No dignity.
The doors slammed shut behind them.
Silence.
Then—Jakob turned toward the trio.
His gaze softened. Just a little.
"The three of you. Dismissed. Good work."
And just like that—he left.
The three of them exhaled—not out of relief, but out of sheer exhaustion.
They stood together in silence.
Then—Clorinde smirked.
"Well, once again, Furina. You got Ace. Nicely done!"
Wriothesley nodded, arms crossed.
"With your performance in the last operation and this one… it really proves you're not the one who shot the President."
Furina let out a dry chuckle.
"But I'm here, aren't I?"
No emotion in her voice.
Clorinde scoffed.
Her expression hardened.
"Those pricks at the Teyvat Union Peacekeeping can go fuck themselves.
They needed a scapegoat, so they chose you.
Fuck them."
Furina blinked.
For a second, she just stared at Clorinde.
As if processing those words.
Then—
A chuckle escaped her lips.
Then another.
Then another.
For the first time since being thrown into this hellhole—she laughed.
"Y-Yeah.
Fuck them."
Clorinde smirked.
"Damn right."
Then, she clapped a hand on Furina's shoulder.
"Come on. Let's get some food. My treat."
Furina hesitated for only a second.
Then—she nodded.
For once, in this godforsaken squadron…
She had two people who had her back.
For once—
She felt somewhat at peace.
The Shadows of Truth
As she walked toward the mess hall, something nagged at her.
A whisper in the back of her mind.
A distant voice.
Something was wrong.
This wasn't about the President's death.
This wasn't about finding a scapegoat.
They didn't just need a scapegoat.
They needed her.
And Furina hadn't figured out why.
Yet.