The Battle Of Morepesok
Three Days Later...
The sky stretched clear and endless above Dymny Kordon Air Force Base, a deceptive calm hanging over the horizon. But on the ground? It was anything but.
The entire base hummed with war preparations.
Soldiers and officers from Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, and beyond moved with urgency, their boots pounding against the pavement. Transport trucks rumbled across the tarmac, delivering crates of ammunition, guided ordnance, and fuel reserves to waiting aircraft. Maintenance crews scrambled to ensure every jet was combat-ready. Weapons technicians loaded Advanced Medium-Range Missiles (AMRAAMs), High-Explosive Bombs, and Cruise Missiles onto pylons with the precision of seasoned professionals.
Beyond the airbase, Dymny Kordon Harbor was a forest of naval vessels, their decks teeming with sailors making final inspections. The steel giants of the allied fleets loomed over the icy waters—battleships and destroyers standing as the backbone of the invasion force.
Radar operators monitored airspace activity. Mechanics worked tirelessly in hangars, running last-minute checks on hydraulic systems, avionics, and flight controls. Pilots, clad in flight suits and helmets, gathered near their respective squadrons, going over tactical briefings and mission parameters.
This was it.
Everything had led to this.
This was the final stand against Snezhnaya.
Hangar 4 – Furina's Rafale M
For three days, her Dassault Rafale M had been waiting in Hangar 4, prepped and maintained with unwavering precision. The aircraft's sleek, predatory frame gleamed under the hangar's bright lights, its deep blue, sky blue, white, and black livery flowing seamlessly along the razor-sharp aerodynamics of the fuselage.
On the tail, a golden emblem stood proudly—a crown over flowing water.
A symbol of fear to her enemies.
Beneath the canopy, painted in bold, unmistakable script:
"Élégante et Efficace."
A reminder. A testament to what she was.
Both refined and ruthless.
Furina stood beside it, arms crossed, watching as the ground crews meticulously armed her jet.
LRAAMs (Long-Range Air-to-Air Missiles) – for engaging enemy aircraft at extended distances.
HCAAs (High-Capacity Air-to-Air Missiles) – for dogfights.
Sidewinders – for close-quarters air combat.
LACMs (Long-Range Air-to-Ground Cruise Missiles) – for striking hardened targets deep inside enemy territory.
Each missile was a promise.
Each warhead a guarantee of destruction.
In mere hours, these very weapons would rain fire and fury from the heavens.
Furina stepped forward, placing a gloved hand against the cold, smooth metal of her Rafale's right-side fuselage.
Her fingers traced the familiar contours, running along the titanium-reinforced body, as if whispering to an old companion.
She exhaled, her voice low.
"This is it… This will change the outcome of the war."
Her heart pounded.
She closed her eyes briefly, letting the world around her fade away.
This fighter had been her sword in this war.
Her shield.
Her wings.
It had carried her through fire, through death, through impossible odds.
And now?
One final battle.
She ran her fingers along the canopy frame, whispering under her breath.
"You've been the knight throughout this war… It's time to end this… once and for all."
The weight of it all pressed on her.
The missions. The kills. The survival.
But it didn't shake her.
Not anymore.
This was what she had fought for.
This was what she was meant to do.
Right on cue, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
"Hey, Furina! It's time for the briefing. Jean called."
She turned.
Collei stood by the hangar entrance, her helmet tucked under one arm, emerald eyes sharp with determination.
Furina lingered for just a second longer, exhaling deeply.
Then, with a final glance at her Rafale, she pulled her glove tighter over her wrist.
"Alright. I'm coming."
She stepped forward, falling into stride beside Collei as they walked toward the main building together.
The war was almost over.
But first—Morepesok had to fall.
Briefing Room – The Final Plan
The briefing room was packed.
Pilots.
Ground troops.
Naval officers.
Every seat was taken, the space a sea of uniforms—each bearing the colors and insignias of different allied nations. Despite the sheer number of personnel present, silence reigned.
The air was thick with anticipation.
This was it.
This was the mission that would decide the fate of the war.
Furina and Collei stood near the door—every seat had already been taken, but neither of them cared. No one did.
They were all in this together.
At the front of the room, Jean stood tall and commanding, her sharp gaze sweeping across the gathered forces.
She took a breath—then spoke.
"Now that everyone's here, let's begin."
A heavy tension settled over the room.
Jean's voice was sharp. Deliberate.
"This is the big one. The operation to capture the capital of Snezhnaya—Morepesok."
She let those words sink in.
Then she continued.
**"This is the culmination of everything we've fought for.
We take the Snezhnayan Forces' General Headquarters, south of Morepesok…
And we END this war—once and for all."**
The weight of those words crashed over the room like a final judgment.
No one moved.
No one so much as breathed.
Then, Jean's tone hardened.
"The plan is as follows:"
She turned to the tactical display.
A map of Morepesok flickered to life on the screen, red and blue markers scattered across the city, representing enemy and allied forces.
"Ground troops will advance on Morepesok from the east, south, and north, while the naval fleet launches a full-scale assault from the west."
Naval officers exchanged glances, nodding.
They had been preparing for this moment for weeks.
Jean continued.
"The Teyvat Strategic Strike Group will establish air superiority over the capital while providing close air support to both naval and ground forces as needed."
The air battle.
The one that would decide everything.
Jean's gaze swept across the room.
Her expression was unyielding.
"By all accounts, this will be a full-scale battle across land, sea, and air. It won't be clean. It won't be easy. But if we execute this right, we break their military in one decisive stroke."
She let that sink in.
No one spoke.
They all understood.
This was it.
Jean's voice hardened like steel.
**"Allied forces have established a forward operating base north of the city for emergency refueling, rearming, and quick repairs.
Use it if you have to—but do not rely on it.
This is going to be brutal."**
A short silence.
Then—Jean pressed on.
"There's one more thing."
The map shifted.
A new display appeared—satellite imagery of communication towers and orbital satellites.
"We've identified communication satellites that Snezhnaya hacked and repurposed."
Eyes narrowed.
**"They're using them to control information and coordinate their forces.
If we take those out, it will throw them into complete chaos.
No orders. No reinforcements. Just a city falling apart from the inside out."**
Murmurs rippled through the room.
The implications were clear.
Destroying those satellites would cut the head off the snake.
Jean straightened, her expression dark and absolute.
"Once the capital falls, their military will be isolated and thrown into disarray."
Her next words came sharp. Final. Absolute.
"That will be our moment to deliver the final blow."
A breath.
A final pause before the storm.
Then—Jean delivered the last, most important words.
"Make no mistake—losing is NOT an option."
The Call to Arms
Silence.
Then—movement.
Jean grabbed her helmet.
"Everyone, scramble and sortie ASAP! It's go time!"
The room erupted.
Chairs scraped against the floor.
Boots thundered toward the exits.
Radios crackled to life.
Pilots sprinted for the hangars.
Naval officers rushed toward the docks.
Commanders barked last-minute orders.
The storm had begun.
Furina clenched her fists.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
This was it.
She glanced at her left wrist.
The Speedmaster was strapped tight over her glove, its navy blue NATO strap snug against her skin.
A reminder of time.
A reminder of everything that had led to this moment.
One final battle.
One final mission.
And when it was over—
This war would finally end.
The Final Sortie – The Battle for Morepesok Begins
Dymny Kordon Air Force Base was alive with controlled chaos.
The tarmac trembled under the weight of supply trucks, their engines growling as they ferried the last loads of fuel, munitions, and spare parts. Ground crews moved like clockwork, their boots slamming against the pavement as they ran final checks. The acrid scent of jet fuel and burnt ozone lingered in the air.
Nobody spoke.
There was no need.
Every movement was precise. Every action carried weight.
This wasn't just another mission.
This was the final push.
The takeover of Dymny Kordon Air Base had given them the advantage.
What had once been a two-hour incursion into Snezhnayan airspace had been cut down to just thirty minutes.
Less time for enemy forces to react.
Less time for them to fortify their defenses.
The assault on Morepesok was imminent.
Hangar 4 – Furina's Rafale M
Inside Hangar 4, Furina's Dassault Rafale M sat motionless, a predator waiting to be unleashed.
Its livery—deep blue, sky blue, white, and black—flowed like a storm over the fuselage, reflecting the cold hangar lights in an almost liquid sheen. On the tail, the golden emblem of a crown over flowing water stood proud. An unmistakable mark of elegance—and devastation.
Furina exhaled sharply.
This was it.
She climbed the integrated ladder, her movements smooth, automatic, every step bringing her closer to the cockpit—the throne of the sky.
Sliding into the ejection seat, she felt the cockpit enclose around her like a second skin.
The avionics were already online.
The auxiliary power unit (APU) hummed in the background, faint vibrations coursing through the airframe as screens flickered to life.
A war machine.
Her war machine.
She secured her harness, yanking the straps tight. No slack. No room for error.
Her fingers found the navigation controls. With methodical precision, she input her waypoints:
HOME – Dymny Kordon Air Force Base
WAYPOINT ONE – Entry into Morepesok Airspace
WAYPOINT TWO – Makeshift Resupply Base
WAYPOINT THREE – Morepesok, the Capital
The plan was set.
She reached for her helmet and slid it over her head. The visor clicked into place. Oxygen mask secured.
A deep breath.
Her hand hovered over the startup panel.
No turning back now.
She flipped the canopy switch.
With a sharp hiss, the glass dome sealed shut, locking her inside her war machine.
Then—
Her fingers flicked the master electrical switch.
STBY → RIGHT.
The first M88-2 turbofan engine spooled up, the shrill whine cutting through the ambient noise.
She watched the N2% climb.
15%… 20%… 25%…
Her hand moved to the engine control lever—CUTOFF to IDLE.
Ignition.
The engine roared to life.
As it stabilized, she repeated the sequence.
RIGHT → LEFT.
Another whine. Another ignition.
Now, both engines were online—humming in perfect sync, their vibrations resonating through the airframe.
She ran through final checks.
Fuel flow—nominal.
Hydraulics—nominal.
Radar—active.
Weapons—armed.
Everything was green.
The radio crackled to life.
"Waltz Squadron, callsign check."
Silence. Then—
"Waltz Two, ready to go."
"Waltz Three, let's rock it."
"Waltz Four, time for vengeance."
"Waltz Five, let's end a war."
Furina smirked.
Damn right.
"Waltz Squadron… Sortie."
With that, she released the parking brake.
Her Rafale M rolled forward, gliding onto the taxiway.
Her heart pounded.
The stick in her hand, the pedals beneath her boots—second nature.
She passed Hangars 3 and 5, where Waltz Three and Waltz Five were already taxiing out, their aircraft reflecting the floodlights in cold steel glimmers.
Further down the taxiway, Primordial Squadron was forming up—an armada of warbirds, each carrying the weight of history.
Nobody spoke over the radio.
There was nothing left to say.
This wasn't about words anymore.
This was about finishing the war.
Runway 07 – The Final Takeoff
It didn't take long to reach the threshold.
Furina lined up with the centerline, her Rafale's nose aimed at the dark horizon.
Beyond it—Morepesok. Just thirty minutes away.
She wrapped her fingers around the throttle levers.
Then—
She slammed them forward.
The twin M88s unleashed their fury.
Afterburners engaged—twin tongues of fire erupted from the exhaust nozzles, the Rafale surging forward.
The acceleration was immediate.
Brutal.
Overwhelming.
80 knots.
110 knots.
140 knots.
The HUD flashed.
164 knots—rotation speed.
Furina pulled back on the sidestick.
The nose lifted.
And just like that—
She left the earth behind.
The ground fell away beneath her.
For a brief moment—silence.
Then, she reached for the gear handle and pulled it up.
The landing gear retracted, locking into place.
One by one, the rest of Waltz Squadron followed—taking off in ten-second intervals.
The same way they had done three days ago.
Then came Primordial Squadron, lifting into the sky like a second wave of retribution.
Before long—
The entire strike group was airborne.
Their formation stretched across the sky—
Like a blade poised to strike.
The battle to capture Morepesok had begun.
The Final Battle for Morepesok – The War's End Approaches
It took twenty minutes to reach the capital.
By then, the battle was already raging.
Waltz Squadron had secured the northern sector of Morepesok, while Primordial Squadron swept the southern district.
On the ground, the full force of the unified Teyvat coalition—Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, Fontaine, Sumeru, and Natlan—engaged Snezhnayan troops on every major front.
Morepesok was a warzone.
Right on cue, AWACS Visionaire updated them.
"Allied ground forces are engaging at three key locations—Reconstruction Park, Iron Gate Bridge, and the Submerged District northwest of the city.
We need complete air superiority and immediate close air support.
Assist our troops and eliminate all hostiles. This is it—time to end this war. Commence!"
Furina smirked, her pulse steady as she tightened her grip on the controls.
"Alright, Waltz Squadron. Let's finish this."
The squadron peeled away, splitting into tactical groups to clear the skies and rip apart enemy ground forces.
Air Superiority – Furina's Engagement
Furina flicked her gaze to the IFF display.
Multiple Su-27s.
She armed HCAA missiles, locking onto a banking Flanker.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Three!"
The missile streaked away.
Direct hit.
She immediately yanked right, rolling inverted as another Su-27 dived toward the city, weaving between the rooftops.
Furina pushed her Rafale's afterburners to max and pursued, her canopy shaking from the turbulence.
The enemy pilot pitched left, then right—desperate to shake her.
It wasn't enough.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder shrieked from her wing.
Another kill.
Just as she stabilized, a third Su-27 flashed across her nose.
Furina chuckled.
"Fucking dumbass."
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two!"
The Sidewinder leapt off the rail, but the Su-27 kicked out flares and climbed hard.
Furina snarled, throttling up, afterburners roaring as she pursued.
The enemy pilot pitched straight into the sky, trying to force an overshoot.
It didn't work.
Furina matched him, climbing higher, higher— until the moment came.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two!"
The missile found its mark.
Splash three.
Her radio crackled.
Jean's voice.
"Remember, everyone—come home in one piece! No casualties!"
"We get that, Chief!" Wriothesley shot back. "Nobody's dying today!"
Close Air Support – Clorinde's Attack Run
Clorinde's Rafale screamed downward, HUD lighting up with hostile tanks and APCs hammering allied troops.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Three!"
An LACM missile detached, spiraling toward its target.
She yanked up, banking hard as multiple fireballs erupted below.
AWACS Visionaire: "Enemy ground support neutralized! Good work!"
A relieved voice crackled through the allied radio.
"Thanks for the close air support! We're pushing forward!"
Dogfights – Wriothesley & Collei
Wriothesley dove into a rolling scissors with a Gripen E.
The Swedish jet snapped into an aggressive turn, trying to outmaneuver him.
Wriothesley anticipated the move, throttling back just enough to gain an instant firing solution.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two!"
The Sidewinder shrieked forward—slamming into the Gripen's fuselage.
Direct hit.
AWACS Visionaire: "Splash one Wolfbite!"
Nearby, Collei was in a vicious engagement with a MiG-29.
She fired a Sidewinder, but the enemy dumped flares and pitched straight into a steep vertical climb.
Collei gritted her teeth.
She followed.
Higher.
Higher.
Higher.
Until the MiG stalled.
Her chance.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two!"
The missile launched.
As it connected, Collei rolled her Rafale into a punishing dive, snapping right to evade potential counters.
AWACS Visionaire: "Splash one Cuilenen!"
The enemy radio erupted in panic.
"FUCK! IT'S THE PLANE WITH THE GOLD CROWN!"
"TAKE IT OUT! DON'T LET HER WIPE OUT OUR AIR SUPPORT!"
"FIRE THE AA GUNS!"
Clorinde vs. MiG-30
Clorinde's Rafale shook under heavy maneuvering—her pursuer, a MiG-30, had her locked down.
Unlike Furina's enhanced Rafale, hers was a stock model—less thrust, less agility.
But not outmatched.
She baited the MiG-30 into an overshoot, rolling left, then jinking right.
Then, she made her move.
Throttle: IDLE.
Left rudder: FULL.
Stick: PULLED BACK.
The Rafale snapped right, spinning in place.
The MiG overshot.
Now she was the hunter.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Three!"
Her HCAA missile streaked away—direct hit.
AWACS Visionaire: "Splash Rapperia!"
Furina's High-Stakes Maneuver
Furina was locked in a knife fight with a Su-30.
They danced across the sky, trading turns—until suddenly—
The enemy pitched up hard and slowed.
A Pugachev Cobra.
But it was a mistake.
Furina reacted instantly.
Throttle: IDLE.
Stick: YANKED BACK.
Her Rafale pitched up to a 90-degree stall, frozen in mid-air.
The Su-30 overshot.
Furina's nose tipped forward—
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder streaked from her wing.
Direct hit.
AWACS Visionaire: "Splash! That's four confirmed kills!"
Reconstruction Park – Ground Strike
Furina glanced at the battlefield below.
Her HMD painted targets.
APCs
Tanks
AA Guns
Apache Gunships
She flipped inverted and dived.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Three!"
An LACM missile launched, slamming into a convoy of APCs.
Pulling up, she rolled into a second pass.
Two tanks were shelling allied forces.
"Bombs away!"
Explosions ripped through the battlefield.
AWACS Visionaire: "Enemy ground forces eliminated at Reconstruction Park! Good work!"
A relieved voice cut in.
"This is Legatus Three! To the plane with the Gold Crown—thank you!"
The enemy radio descended into chaos.
"HQ! WE HAVE TO FALL BACK! WE'RE OUTMATCHED IN THE AIR AND ON THE GROUND!"
"Hold your ground! You've got this!"
But they didn't.
Furina watched as enemy forces began retreating.
The tide had turned.
This war was ending.
The Final Push – Southern Morepesok
Two minutes south of Waltz Squadron's position, Primordial Squadron was locked in a fierce battle, holding down air superiority in Southern Morepesok.
Unlike the northern sector, this part of the city housed the bulk of Snezhnayan forces—including their General Headquarters.
The battle here was brutal.
Reinforcements kept pouring in, and allied ground troops were locked in intense urban combat. The skies were a chaotic mess of weaving fighters, tracer rounds, and missile trails, while the streets below were engulfed in firefights, explosions rattling buildings to their foundations.
But despite the overwhelming odds—Primordial Squadron was carving through the enemy.
Their current kill count:
Jean – Three A-10 Warthogs, two tanks.
Amber – Two Su-30s, four APCs.
Ningguang – Two Gripen Es, one MiG-25, three tanks.
Ei – One MiG-29, one Rafale, three AA guns.
Mavuika – Three MiG-25s, one Rafale, four APCs.
And they weren't done yet.
More enemy fighters filled the air.
Waltz Squadron Reinforcements
Jean was in trouble.
A Gripen E had locked onto her six o'clock, its pilot pressing hard to get a missile solution. Jean gritted her teeth, fighting her Rafale M through a series of barrel rolls, cutting left and right to throw off the targeting system.
The enemy pilot was relentless.
Her voice came through the radio—urgent.
"Waltz! If you're done up north, we could use some backup! There's more troops here!"
A second voice—Ei.
"We've located the Snezhnayan Headquarters. It's right here!"
Furina's response was immediate.
"Wilco. Waltz Squadron heading your way. ETA in two mikes."
Jean threw her throttle forward, pulling into a high-G break turn to shake the Gripen.
Tone. Lock.
Missile warning.
Jean's HUD flashed red.
"Deploying flares!"
A streak of brilliant white-hot magnesium flares burst from behind her F-15, the heat-seeking missile biting onto them instead—detonating in mid-air.
But the enemy wasn't done.
The Gripen was still on her tail.
Then—a shadow loomed behind it.
Mavuika.
Her F-15E came screaming in from above, descending at an angle with a perfect shot.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder lanced out, tracking the Gripen.
Direct hit. The jet detonated in a fireball, debris scattering across the sky.
Jean exhaled.
"Thanks for the help, Kiongozi!"
Mavuika winked over the radio.
"Glad to help, Dandelion!"
Amber vs. F-14A – A Desperate Duel
Amber was locked in a high-speed engagement with an enemy F-14A Tomcat.
The older-generation fighter was struggling to keep up with her F-15E, but the Snezhnayan pilot was no amateur. He was using the Tomcat's raw power, pushing it to its absolute limits.
Then—a desperate move.
The F-14 suddenly pitched into a steep vertical climb.
Amber followed, throttling up, matching its ascent.
10,000 feet.
20,000 feet.
The F-15 had the advantage—better thrust-to-weight, better aerodynamics.
Then—flames sputtered from the Tomcat's right engine.
It yawed right.
Its nose dipped.
It stalled.
Tone. Lock.
Amber's breath steadied.
"Fox Two!"
A Sidewinder lanced forward—ripping into the Tomcat's belly.
The fighter detonated in a violent explosion, its fuselage splitting in half as it tumbled toward the city below.
Ningguang vs. F/A-18 – Furina's Intervention
Ningguang was in serious trouble.
An F/A-18 Hornet was on her six, sticking to her like glue.
She pulled hard left, banking into a defensive spiral, but the enemy pilot was skilled—perfectly mirroring her turns, refusing to give her any breathing room.
Then—her HUD flashed.
Tone. Lock.
The Hornet fired.
Missile inbound.
Ningguang braced—
BOOM!
The missile exploded mid-air.
Her eyes flicked up—a sleek Rafale M streaked past, its deep blue and black livery unmistakable.
Furina's voice crackled through the radio, lightly teasing.
"Content de me voir, ma chérie?"
(Glad to see me, darling?)
Ningguang sighed in relief.
"Very much, Furina. Thanks for the support!"
Furina flipped her Rafale into a sharp break turn, chasing after the enemy Hornet.
"Waltz Squadron, let's assist our Primordial friends!"
She rolled right—diving straight into the fight.
AWACS Visionaire – Keeping Score
Above the battlefield, AWACS Visionaire was tracking everything.
His voice crackled through the radio:
"That's nineteen, Waltz! One more and I'll owe you dinner!"
Furina smirked.
"You better make it something expensive."
Visionaire chuckled.
"I knew you'd say that. Alright, let's wrap this up. Only four left in the sector!"
The Naval Distress Call – A New Fight Begins
As the battle over Morepesok began to wind down, a new distress call crackled over the radio.
A panicked voice:
"This is the Naval Fleet! We're under attack! We need close air support!"
Furina's heart pounded.
Jean wasted no time.
"Waltz Squadron, head there and support our fleet!"
Furina's response was instant.
"Wilco! Waltz Squadron, follow my lead!"
She yanked the stick left, her Rafale M rolling into a sharp northwest turn toward the waters of Morepesok Bay.
Below, on the distant horizon—tracer fire and missile streaks lit up the sea like a battlefield of its own.
The squadron followed, engines roaring, contrails cutting through the smoke-filled sky.
Naval Battle – Waltz Joins the Fight
Furina toggled her radio channel as her Rafale M cut through the sky, salt spray misting over the canopy from the turbulent ocean below.
"Naval team, this is Waltz Squadron. ETA to your position: one and a half mikes."
The response came quickly, the voice on the other end strained yet filled with relief.
"Oh, Waltz! So glad to hear your voice!"
"We're saved! Lady Luck is on our side!"
Then—a stark warning.
"Waltz, be advised! They have anti-aircraft weaponry!"
Furina's grip on the stick tightened, her sapphire eyes locking onto the battlefield below. Snezhnayan warships were positioned in a defensive formation, their CIWS turrets swiveling, scanning for aerial threats.
"Wilco. Waltz Squadron, attack from above and below! Break now!"
The formation scattered like falling stars.
Waltz Two and Five climbed high, preparing for a high-angle attack.
Waltz One, Three, and Four split left and right, hugging the sea's surface to stay beneath radar detection.
The enemy fleet had no idea what was coming.
Furina vs. The Aircraft Carrier
Her IFF display highlighted a massive enemy aircraft carrier, its deck bristling with anti-air defenses and a handful of fighters attempting to scramble.
A predatory smirk crossed Furina's lips.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Three!"
Two Long-Range Anti-Ship Cruise Missiles (LACM) streaked away from her Rafale, their engines glowing orange against the storm-gray sky.
She pulled back on the sidestick, climbing aggressively to evade retaliatory fire. The enemy carrier scrambled its defenses, CIWS guns blazing, attempting to intercept—
Too late.
A thunderous explosion tore through the ship's midsection. A second detonation followed as stored munitions ignited. Flames burst from the deck, sending metal and aircraft wreckage skyward.
The radio crackled with allied cheers.
"DIRECT HIT!"
"Their only aircraft carrier has exploded!"
Furina rolled her fighter, watching the inferno below.
One major threat down.
Clorinde & Eula Take Out The Destroyers
Clorinde's IFF locked onto a Snezhnayan destroyer weaving through the chaos.
Tone. Lock.
"Bombs away!"
Two unguided bombs detached from her Rafale's hardpoints, falling true. The destroyer attempted evasive maneuvers, its bow turning sharply—
Too slow.
A fireball engulfed the warship as the bombs tore into its hull, sending shockwaves across the ocean.
"Enemy destroyer destroyed!"
Not even a second later—
Tone. Lock.
Eula lined up another destroyer in her F-15E's targeting reticle.
"Special delivery!"
Her Strike Eagle's bomb bay doors swung open, releasing two guided bombs. The destroyer's crew had no time to react before their ship was ripped apart by high-explosive force.
AWACS Visionaire's voice cut in, ever the commentator.
"Enemy destroyer splashed! Must be one nice barbecue!"
Snezhnayan Panic – Targeting the Golden Crown
The enemy comms were in shambles. Desperation bled through their voices.
"WE LOST 30% OF OUR NAVAL FLEET! IF THIS KEEPS UP, OUR NAVY WILL FALL!"
Then—
A frantic, venomous command.
"TAKE OUT THAT GOLDEN CROWN PLANE! TAKE IT THE FUCK OUT!"
They wanted Furina dead.
She smirked, tilting her Rafale slightly, the golden emblem on her tail flashing in the fire-lit sky.
"Try me, bastards."
Collei's Low Pass Strike
Skimming just above the ocean's surface, Collei kept her Mirage 2000's nose steady, water misting over her canopy from the high-speed pass.
A new target.
Tone. Lock.
"Fox Three!"
An LACM missile roared from her Mirage, streaking toward a Snezhnayan destroyer.
The missile struck mid-ship, detonating with pinpoint precision. The warship groaned, metal plating peeling away as secondary explosions gutted it from the inside out.
Collei pulled back, ascending sharply through the thick black smoke as debris scattered below.
"Enemy destroyer splashed!"
Final Targets – The End of the Fleet
AWACS Visionaire's voice cut in, filled with pride.
"The operation is nearly complete! You all went beyond everyone's expectations. We'll all be heroes."
Jean chuckled over the radio.
"I don't know what kind of medals they'll give us, but Furina will be stacked with them!"
Then—more serious now.
"But if you all want one, come back home in one piece."
AWACS Visionaire updated the battle map.
"The Southern Area of Morepesok is clear! All that's left is the naval fleet!"
Furina nosed her Rafale down, locking onto the second-to-last destroyer.
At the same time, Wriothesley, flying his F-15E, locked onto the final enemy warship.
Two tones. Two locks.
"Fox Three!"
"Bombs away!"
Furina's LACM missile screamed through the air, slamming into the enemy vessel's bridge.
Wriothesley's precision bombs detached from his Strike Eagle, diving toward their target.
Both pilots yanked their aircraft into steep climbs, banking toward the coast as the ocean lit up with twin fireballs.
AWACS Visionaire confirmed the outcome.
"That's the last of the naval fleet!"
The Endgame – The Last Transmission
For a moment—
Only the sound of engines and the distant roar of burning warships.
Then—
AWACS Visionaire's voice, clear and victorious.
"We have the upper hand! Enemy headquarters is ours!"
"The operation to destroy enemy satellites is underway. Everything is going according to plan!"
"The end of the war is in sight, everyone!"
The radio erupted.
"Let's go!"
"Fucking YES!!!"
"The TSSG has DONE IT!"
Victory was theirs.
The Nightmare in the Skies
AWACS Visionaire's voice cut through the comms, urgent and sharp.
"Attention, Waltz and Primordial Squadron! We have five Su-57s inbound!"
Furina's grip on the sidestick tightened, her sharp blue eyes scanning the horizon. A chill crawled down her spine, her breath steady yet cold.
Her gut told her before her radar did.
Then—her HUD pinged. A hostile contact, low over the shimmering waters.
She knew.
"...The Knave."
And she was right.
A black-and-red Su-57 streaked upward from the sea, its wingtips slicing through the air like a specter of death. The aircraft skimmed just meters above the waves, its reflection a flickering phantom against the ocean's surface.
Furina barely had time to react before it opened fire.
A missile streaked from the Su-57's belly pylon, cutting across the sky like a lightning bolt. Seconds later, the hull of an Allied destroyer erupted in fire and steel. Another missile followed—its fiery impact tore into a second warship.
The Allied radio erupted into chaos.
"CAPTAIN! SHIPS FOUR AND SIX ARE HIT! WE'RE TAKING ON WATER!"
Furina gritted her teeth.
That bitch.
Visionaire's voice sharpened, his usual snark gone.
"I just got word from HQ—new mission objective. Take down The Knave."
Furina exhaled, slow and measured. Then—she smirked.
"She's all mine."
Her gloved hand slammed the throttles forward.
The Rafale surged ahead, afterburners igniting as it tore through the sky like a hunting beast.
Jean's voice cut through the comms.
"Waltz One, I'm with you for support!"
And just like that—
The chase was on.
The Chase – Sky Hunters
The Knave's Su-57 danced through the sky like a phantom, twisting and rolling through evasive maneuvers at impossible angles.
Furina gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay on her.
Her Rafale bucked in the turbulent wake of the Sukhoi's thrust-vectoring nozzles. The enemy jet twisted violently, cutting across the sky like a striking viper.
Then—the enemy radio crackled.
A voice. Calm. Confident. Laced with amusement.
"This should be fun… bring it on."
The Su-57 snapped right.
Furina mirrored the move, hands steady, heart pounding.
Then—lock tone.
Her eyes flashed.
"Fox Two!"
Two Sidewinders leapt from her pylons, leaving white contrails as they streaked toward the Su-57.
The first missile missed—fooled by countermeasures.
The second connected.
A fiery explosion bloomed across the Su-57's fuselage, shrapnel bursting from the impact zone—
But the aircraft kept flying.
Furina growled.
"COME ON!"
The Knave wasn't going down without a fight.
The Su-57 dove, weaving between the skeletal remains of ruined skyscrapers.
Furina followed without hesitation.
Then—
The Knave pulled a Pugachev Cobra.
The Su-57's nose snapped back, its airframe nearly stalling mid-air.
Furina's eyes widened.
Shit—
Her instincts kicked in, but it was already too late—
She overshot.
And just like that—
The hunter became the hunted.
The enemy radio crackled again.
"Not bad, pilot with the gold crown. But this… is where you fall."
Furina's jaw clenched.
She knew what to do.
Slamming the throttles to idle, she yanked the sidestick back and kicked the rudder hard left.
Her Rafale spun in mid-air, a brutal flat-spin maneuver that sent G-forces slamming into her chest.
Her vision blurred—
But when it cleared—
She was behind the Knave again.
The Su-57 had overshot.
And just like that—
The fight was back on.
The Battle Rages – One By One, They Fall
The battle above the ruined city was a chaotic blur of missile streaks and cannon fire.
Another voice crackled over the radio.
"This is Hearth Five! Bailing out! Good luck!"
A distant whoosh—the sound of an ejection seat firing.
Visionaire's voice updated.
"Waltz Five took down a Su-57!"
Jean's voice followed immediately.
"Waltz, I'll distract the Knave! Stay focused and take the shot!"
Furina's stomach twisted.
"Dandelion, that's too risky!"
Jean's voice came again—steady, unwavering.
"It's a team effort! Don't worry about me!"
Right on cue, Jean's F-15 cut across the Knave's nose, pulling away in a sharp break.
The Knave took the bait.
Her Su-57 pivoted, locking onto Jean.
Furina's grip tightened.
Now or never.
Her Rafale surged forward, closing the gap.
Lock tone.
Her heart pounded.
"Fox Three!"
Two HCAA missiles streaked toward the Su-57.
One connected—its impact sending flames licking across the enemy jet's fuselage.
But it still kept flying.
"DAMN IT! HOW IN THE FUCK IS IT STILL IN THE AIR?!"
Then—
The nightmare.
The enemy radio crackled.
"You shouldn't be chased at all. Taking you out."
A missile launched.
Amber's voice screamed over the radio.
"JEAN! MISSILE BEHIND YOU!"
Jean's response was cut short.
"SH—"
An explosion.
Static.
Furina's breath caught in her throat.
Her HUD showed Jean's IFF—then, just as suddenly—
It was gone.
Her hands trembled.
Her voice cracked.
"JEAN!!!"
Through the thick clouds, she saw it—
Jean's F-15, spiraling downward, smoke trailing behind it.
"Jean, do you read?! JEAN!!!"
No response.
No chute.
No beacon.
Nothing.
Silence.
Then—
Visionaire's voice.
"Primordial One lost.
Primordial Two… you are in the lead."
Furina's grip on the stick was ironclad, her entire body tense.
Her voice was ice.
"TU NE T'EN SORTIRAS PAS AVEC ÇA, CONNARD!"
She slammed the throttle forward.
Vengeance – The Final Exchange
The dogfight burned through the ruins.
Then—an opening.
Furina fired.
Two Sidewinders screamed toward the Knave.
Both hit.
The Su-57's right engine erupted into flames.
But before she could finish it—
Her IFF display scrambled.
The Su-57 broke right—
And vanished.
"Wh—what the hell!?"
The allied radios erupted.
"I lost radar contact!"
"All bogey signals are gone!"
Then—Eula's voice.
"Look! Toward the sun!"
Furina's breath hitched.
Five bright objects hung in the sky.
Her voice was a whisper.
"Shit… The satellites."
Then—
The enemy radio crackled one last time.
"Hearth Squadron, return to base. It's not safe to stick around."
And just like that—
The Knave was gone.
Visionaire's voice followed, hollow and strained.
"All units, RTB. We have the capital… But… Jean…"
A long pause.
"I—I'm sorry."
Silence.
No one spoke.
Furina clenched her teeth.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Then—AWACS Visionaire's voice cut through the radio.
"I got something."
Furina's brow furrowed.
What now?
"A blip on my radar. Single fast-mover, closing in."
Her grip tightened on the throttle.
"Hostile?"
A pause.
"…No IFF signature, but it's heading right for us."
Her eyes narrowed.
Who the hell—?
Then, right on cue—
A lone fighter jet streaked past.
The sun caught the silhouette, painting the twin tails in a golden glow.
High-swept wings.
Boxy fuselage.
That was no enemy.
That was—
Furina's heart slammed against her ribs. Her breath hitched as her head snapped to the left.
An F-14B.
No fucking way.
The Tomcat banked, cutting across the formation in a slow, deliberate roll.
Her blue eyes locked onto it, every detail burning into her brain.
"What the fuck—?"
Then, the radio crackled.
A voice.
Familiar.
Impossible.
"Hey, Waltz and Primordial Squadron… still there?"
Furina felt the blood drain from her face.
No.
No fucking way.
Her entire body went rigid.
Her voice barely worked.
"…Jean!?"
A low chuckle.
"You got it."
The radio exploded with Amber's voice.
"JEAN!? HOW IN THE HELL!?"
A long sigh came from the Tomcat.
"I was hit from behind. Ejected before the fireball. Ended up in a flooded ruin—some makeshift airstrip buried in the mud. There was a hangar, still standing. And inside… this F-14B."
A pause. Then, almost sheepishly—
"So… I stole it."
Silence.
A stunned, breathless kind of silence.
Then—
Furina exhaled sharply, a choked sound escaping her lips. Her hand trembled as she lifted it off the stick, dragging it across her visor, blinking against the blur in her eyes.
"Jean… Holy shit… I—I thought you were dead…"
Jean's voice was steady. Steady, but softer.
"I may have been shot down… but the Dandelion never goes down without a fight. I will always rise back up."
Furina let out a breathless chuckle, her head shaking in disbelief.
"And so you did."
The squadrons pulled into formation. Tight. Close.
Side by side, they turned northward.
The horizon stretched before them, painted in gold and fire.
They were going home.
Stranded in Victory – The War Isn't Over
Hours Later – Briefing Room, Dymny Kordon Air Force Base
The air in the briefing room was thick—exhaustion, sweat, and the lingering scent of burnt jet fuel clung to the pilots, ground crews, and officers gathered in near silence. The adrenaline of battle had long since burned out, leaving behind only the crushing weight of reality.
Jean stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, her face unreadable. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting sharp shadows over her features, highlighting every scar, every line of stress etched into her expression.
She took a slow, measured breath before finally speaking.
"Looks like we'll be setting up shop here for a while."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room—hushed, uncertain.
Jean continued, her voice steady but carrying the weight of their situation.
"Other Allied aircraft were most likely forced to make emergency landings elsewhere. We don't have intel on their status yet, because…"
She let the next words hang in the air like a loaded weapon, allowing the inevitable realization to sink in.
"Both Snezhnayan and Teyvatian communication satellites were taken out."
Silence.
Jean's next words hit like a hammer to the chest.
"We've lost all contact with Headquarters. No command, no reinforcements, no logistics. We're on our own."
Tension spread through the room like a cold front. Some pilots gritted their teeth, others leaned forward, brows furrowed. A few stared blankly at the table, processing.
Furina leaned forward, elbows resting on the surface, her blue eyes narrowing.
"So what you're telling us," she said slowly, voice carrying an edge, "is that we're isolated? Completely cut off?"
Jean's jaw tightened.
"Completely."
A suffocating silence fell over the room.
The war had raged for months—through dogfights, air raids, and ground battles. They had just taken the Snezhnayan capital in a battle that should have ended everything.
But now they were stranded.
No orders. No backup. No way to know if the war was even still going.
Jean pushed forward, unwilling to let the squadron spiral into despair.
"The mission to capture the capital was a success."
She let the words sit for a moment. They had won.
But then she shook her head.
"The length of this war? The end of it?" She exhaled sharply. "That's something even I can't figure out right now."
Furina clenched her fists, knuckles white. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.
Jean ran a hand through her tousled blonde hair, frustration leaking into her tone.
"Apparently, the enemy had the same idea—taking out our satellites. Which means..."
Her gaze swept across the room, ensuring everyone understood the gravity of the situation.
"We have no idea when—or even if—those satellites will come back online."
No satellites meant no GPS. No long-range radar. No AWACS support beyond short-range tactical surveillance.
They weren't just cut off from command.
They were cut off from the entire world.
Jean's eyes scanned the squadron, reading their reactions.
Some pilots tensed their jaws.
Some clenched their fists.
Some simply sat there, hands clasped tightly, saying nothing.
Finally, Jean straightened her posture.
"Everyone… Dismissed."
Chairs scraped against the floor as pilots stood, exchanging glances—some grim, some unreadable. A few muttered amongst themselves. Others walked out silently, heading toward the hangars, needing space to think.
But four people remained.
Jean. Furina. Amber. Clorinde.
The survivors. The leaders.
Jean let out a slow breath, her body finally slumping into a chair, exhaustion seeping into her posture.
Furina moved to the supply cabinet, rummaging through its contents. After a moment, she pulled out two bottles of beer, the glass still cool to the touch.
Wordlessly, she handed one to Jean.
Jean took it without hesitation, twisting off the cap with practiced ease. She brought the cold glass to her lips, taking a long sip. The burn of alcohol felt… grounding. Real.
Furina did the same, exhaling as she lowered the bottle.
"I'm so fucking glad you made it," Furina muttered, swirling the beer in her hand.
Jean nodded, taking another sip.
"Yeah… thankfully, the cockpit wasn't hit. If it was…" she trailed off, shaking her head.
Furina let out a dry chuckle.
"Yeah. That was how Nocturne Two was killed. A missile struck her F/A-18's cockpit. She never even had a chance to eject."
Jean lowered her gaze for a moment. The losses never got easier.
Then, softly, "I'm sorry."
Furina shook her head.
"Don't be. You survived, Jean. You're alive. That's what matters."
Amber, who had been sitting quietly until now, sighed and leaned back against the wall.
"But Jean... with you in an F-14B, you'll need someone to handle the RIO seat. That thing wasn't built for solo flying."
Jean nodded, tapping her bottle lightly against the table.
"Yeah, I know… and I already have someone in mind."
She turned her head toward Amber, smirking slightly.
"I'm looking at you."
Amber blinked, caught off guard. Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face.
"Me?"
Jean nodded.
"Yeah. You up for it?"
Amber scoffed, shaking her head in amusement.
"Are you kidding? Hell yes."
Jean chuckled. "Then welcome to Primordial One."
Furina smirked, lifting her bottle.
"To Jean and Amber, then."
Amber grinned, grabbing her own bottle and clinking it against theirs.
"To Primordial One."
Jean took a final sip, a small smirk playing on her lips.
"And to ending this damn war—however long it takes."
The four of them sat in silence, the night settling around them.
For now, there was peace.
But the truth lingered in the back of all their minds.
The battle for Morepesok was over.
But the war itself?
With no communication. No orders. No support.
It was far from finished.
And it might just last a hell of a lot longer than any of them expected.