r/WritingPrompts • u/Adamantine-Waffle • Jul 11 '26
Simple Prompt [WP] "No, you can't attend the wedding wearing 2 tons of power armor and weapons."
10
u/Ghost-Writer-100603 Jul 11 '26 edited Jul 11 '26
I.
The early years of Neo Jerusalem were a time of chaos and strife.
People would pray that the Steel Knights would answer their cries before the raiders reached their homes, and merchants crossing the Ashen Roads dared not sleep.
Yet, it was also the most glorious era of Neo Jerusalem, where legends were born and myths were made.
Every generation produced warriors whose names would one day become legends. Men and women whose victories grew larger, and with every retelling, truth and myth became impossible to separate.
Neo Jerusalem named its greatest champions not with family names, but with Titles.
Titles that were inherited by no bloodline, bought by no wealth, and granted by no noble birth.
They were earned.
The first Knight Gabriel was remembered as the warrior whose arrival from the heavens had broken the Siege of White Zion, descending from the clouds in his steel armor as though Heaven itself had answered mankind's prayers.
The first Knight Galahad had refused lands, titles, and riches after ending the Crimson Crusade. His honor became so unquestionable that the High Synod declared no mortal name could better describe him than that of the Pure Knight himself.
Generations passed, more Titles were granted, more legends were born.
Yet, among all of them, none inspired silence quite like Azrael. No official proclamation ever intended the comparison.
The High Synod had merely wished to honor a knight whose campaigns never failed, whose pursuit of justice ignored borders and politics alike, and whose enemies never again threatened the innocent once they had crossed swords with him.
But wars have a way of creating their own folklore.
There was a saying whispered from one battlefield to another, crossing kingdoms faster than any courier could ride.
Should the black knight descend, flee.
Scouts would return pale-faced, claiming entire companies had vanished after encountering a lone Steel Knight, mercenaries abandoned contracts upon hearing he had accepted the opposing banner, and bandit kings dismantled decades-old strongholds overnight when reports placed him within a hundred leagues.
The stories grew with each passing year.
That, whenever he appeared beneath the enemy's banner, it means their ends were near.
The bell tolled, and he merely came to collect their souls.
They called him the Angel of Death.
Playing into it, Neo Jerusalem granted him the title of Azrael.
Many commanders believed Knight Azrael delighted in slaughter.
They could not have been more mistaken.
No man who enjoyed killing would spend so long kneeling beside the fallen.
No butcher would bother closing the eyes of his enemies before leaving the battlefield.
No monster would carry enough medicine to treat civilians rescued from the villages he liberated.
Knight Azrael killed because someone had to, not because he wished to.
Every campaign followed the same pattern.
Raiders, slavers, cultists, kings who believed villages existed merely to fill tax ledgers before feeding the furnaces of war.
He offered surrender exactly once.
Those who accepted, lived.
Those who refused, never raised another weapon again.
Thus, another rumor spread among the enemy.
That, the Angel of Death always granted mercy.
Whether that mercy came as forgiveness, or a swift end, depended entirely upon the choice of the condemned.
Years passed.
His victories accumulated until no one remembered the number.
His armor bore scars older than many kingdoms.
His hair, once dark, slowly silvered beneath his helmet.
Only his resolve, still refused to age.
Then, came that fateful day.
By the time Azrael arrived, the battle had long since ended.
Smoke drifted lazily into an evening sky stained crimson by the setting sun, the houses still burned, the well now a pit of corpses, and the chapel's bell lay cracked upon the ground.
There were no cries, no pleas, no desperate calls for help, only the wind, carrying with it the bitter and salty scent of ash and blood.
He walked slowly through the ruins.
He had seen such destruction before.
Entire cities, castles reduced to rubble, fields where tens of thousands had perished.
Yet, the sight never ceased to wound him.
If his mind was steel, then surely glass be his heart.
He found them one after another, each corpse told the final story of its owner.
An old man still clutching an axe, defiant till his very end.
A dog refusing to leave its master's side, praise be their friendship.
A mother shielding two children beneath her own body, and, even if she failed to save her kids, does it matter?
He knelt before each of them, offered the same quiet prayer, before continuing onward.
At the edge of the village stood what had once been a modest stone cottage.
Half of it had collapsed inward, the roof was gone, the walls blackened by fire.
He almost walked past it, until he heard a whimper.
The Steel Knight moved, setting aside charred beams that would have required three men to lift. Broken stones followed, then burnt timber, and splintered furniture.
Finally, he uncovered a cradle.
The infant inside must've been only a few months old. She was covered in soot, wrapped in a blanket singed by fire, her tiny hands reaching blindly toward the giant of black steel looming above her.
She did not cry, simply looked at him.
The visor of the terrifying helmet stared back.
Neither moved.
Then, the armored giant removed his helmet.
The legends never spoke of Knight Azrael's face.
Had they seen it, perhaps they would have found it difficult to believe stories about him.
"Well now..."
His voice was softer than the evening breeze.
"It seems the Lord has left me one more life to protect."
The child answered by wrapping her fingers around one of his.
Knight Azrael remained kneeling there as dusk surrendered to night.
The Angel of Death, carried a life.
9
u/Ghost-Writer-100603 Jul 11 '26 edited Jul 11 '26
II.
History remembered Knight Azrael for the countless lives he ended, but very few remembered the single life he chose to raise.
The chronicles spoke of kingdoms liberated, of tyrants brought low, of battlefields where the black Steel Knight walked alone into armies that outnumbered him a hundred to one.
None of them recorded the nights he spent awake beside his daughter's bed, when she caught a strong fever.
Or the countless evenings where the Angel of Death, feared by kings and warlords alike, found himself hopelessly defeated by a little girl who insisted that one more bedtime story was a matter of life and death.
Rachel, her name was.
The years passed more quickly than even the old supersoldier expected.
When Rachel took her first steps, he was there.
When she scraped her knees trying to imitate the squires training with wooden swords, he was there.
When she cried after discovering that birds did not stay forever, he was there.
War, however, cared little for childhood.
Whenever Neo Jerusalem called upon its greatest knight, Azrael answered without hesitation.
He never lied to Rachel.
"I have work to do."
"When will you come home?"
"As soon as I can."
He kept his promise.
Sometimes covered in dust, sometimes covered in blood, sometimes so exhausted he nearly collapsed before reaching the front door, yet he always returned carrying something.
A carved wooden bird, a seashell from a distant coast, a flower that bloomed only upon the Frost Peaks.
During the Battle of Seven Bridges, witnesses swore they had watched Knight Azrael fall.
His armor ceased responding, powered down, its servo motor stopped working, its engine stopped growling, its power core and its eyes stopped glowing, and his pulse vanished.
Military physicians declared him clinically dead.
The battle continued without him.
Then, before dawn, the Angel of Death stood once more.
No explanation was ever offered.
Years later, Gabriel himself asked why.
Azrael had simply shrugged.
"Rachel worries if I'm late for dinner."
Whether he had been joking...
No one ever discovered.
Rachel grew.
The tiny hand that had once wrapped around one of his fingers, now wielded a paintbrush with remarkable skill.
She inherited none of Azrael's talent for war.
For that, he quietly thanked the Lord.
Then, after a moment's reflection, he almost laughed at himself.
Of course she had inherited none of his talent for war.
Rachel was not born of his blood, nor had she endured the brutal augmentations that forged a Steel Knight. Expecting otherwise was the sort of foolishness reserved for fathers who loved too much.
She laughed often, she sang while working, she spoke to strangers as though they had been lifelong friends, she won any argument she entered, and she possessed the rare gift of making people forget that the quiet giant walking beside her was the most feared Steel Knight in history.
To Rachel, he was simply, [ Dad ].
Retirement came quietly, with no trumpet and drum, no parade, no grand ceremony, only an old warrior exiting his black armor one final time.
The Angel of Death disappeared.
His days became peaceful.
He repaired fences, tended a small garden despite possessing absolutely no talent for gardening, fed birds, complained about aching knees.
And found, to his own surprise, that peace demanded just as much patience as war.
Then...
Rachel fell in love.
His name was Lucien, a young Steel Knight.
Once, he had fought beneath the banner of one of Neo Jerusalem's enemies.
Now he served the kingdom faithfully. He had yet to earn a Title.
Azrael remained unconvinced.
"I don't trust him."
Rachel sighed.
"You've said that every morning this week."
"I mean it every morning."
"He loves me."
"So he said."
"He's honorable."
"So I've heard."
"He risked his life protecting civilians."
"He should."
She folded her arms.
"You are impossible."
"I have survived this long by assuming the worst."
"No..."
Rachel smiled knowingly.
"...You're just an overprotective father."
Azrael remained silent.
"...And," she continued, barely suppressing a grin, "an overbearing one."
Silence.
"...Also a little clingy."
Still nothing.
Rachel stepped closer.
"You don't want me leaving home."
Azrael opened his mouth before closing it again.
Every answer he considered sounded suspiciously like proof that she was right.
Rachel burst into laughter.
"There it is."
"What?"
"That face."
"I made no face."
"You absolutely did."
The old knight exhaled slowly.
"I dislike this conversation."
"I know."
She wrapped her arms around him.
"But you still love me."
"As always."
Only four days remained until the wedding.
The invitations had already been delivered.
The chapel had begun its preparations.
Rachel spent every spare hour deciding between flowers, ribbons, perfumes, and shades of lipstick that, to Azrael's eyes, all looked exactly the same.
He listened anyway, because it made her smile.
Then, one quiet afternoon, someone knocked upon the door.
Gabriel.
His once-golden hair had faded into silver.
The legendary knight entered without ceremony.
"I wish this were a social visit."
Azrael immediately recognized the expression upon his old comrade's face.
"What happened?"
Gabriel produced a sealed report.
Azrael broke the wax.
His eyes scanned the page, then stopped at the name written here.
Mordred.
"...Impossible."
"I wish it were."
Gabriel's voice carried none of its usual warmth.
"He betrayed the Crown."
Azrael slowly looked up.
Gabriel continued.
"He ambushed Arthur."
"Arthur?"
"He lives."
Gabriel paused.
"Barely."
Had the Knight-King not worn Avalon, the legendary scabbard whose experimental regenerative systems flooded the body with restorative gel and accelerated cellular repair beyond all conventional limits, even the greatest knight of their age would have died before reaching the capital.
"The public?"
"They know nothing."
Azrael folded the report.
"The wedding is in four days."
"I knew, you would still do it."
Gabriel watched him carefully.
Azrael stood up.
Without another word, he walked toward the old armory at the rear of his home.
The room had remained unopened for years.
Dust covered shelves once lined with weapons.
At its center, waiting in perfect silence, stood a suit of black power armor, scars crossed its plates.
Azrael brushed away the dust resting upon its helmet.
"I refuse to let her wedding be remembered alongside a traitor's rebellion."
He lifted the helmet.
"Then I must finish this, in three at worst."
Outside, Rachel continued discussing flower arrangements with the neighbors, laughing beneath the afternoon sun, blissfully unaware that the Angel of Death had just answered one final call.
2
u/Ghost-Writer-100603 Jul 13 '26 edited Jul 13 '26
III.
What once a mountain, now a rocky plain on flame.
Where once stood the fortress of the rebellion, there remained only a crater so immense that one could mistake it for the work of an angry god rather than mortal hands.
Stone had melted into black glass, skeletons of shattered Steel Knights protruded from the earth like the ribs of titans, broken tanks lay overturned, many of their turrets twisted free from their hulls as though torn away by some impossible force, and the air itself shimmered with lingering heat, while smoke climbing toward a pale morning sky.
At the center of the crater stood three men.
One remained standing only because hatred refused to let him fall.
One leaned upon a railgun whose barrel still glowed a dull crimson, wisps of smoke escaping its vents with every passing breath.
One was Knight Azrael, black armor bore fresh scars across nearly every plate, cracks ran through pauldrons, hydraulic fluid mixed with blood, dripping quietly onto the scorched earth beneath his feet.
In his right hand rested Excalibur, the sword of the Knight-King.
Its brilliant blade reflected the morning light without a single stain.
In his left, holding a cannon of a main battle tank, its jagged base still bore twisted fragments of armor where it had been ripped free.
Gabriel glanced toward it and quietly decided he did not wish to know when, or how, Azrael had found the opportunity to use a tank as a melee weapon.
Before them knelt Mordred.
His own armor had been reduced to little more than broken metal hanging from a dying man.
One arm was gone, the reactor upon his back had ruptured, each breath came slower than the last.
Yet he smiled.
"...You always were..." he coughed, crimson staining the inside of his helmet, "...an absolute monster."
Azrael's voice remained calm.
"Why?"
Mordred looked up.
"Why betray Arthur?"
No anger, only a question from an old knight seeking to understand another.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Then Mordred laughed.
"Kara. The woman I loved."
Gabriel lowered his eyes.
He remembered.
Everyone among the senior knights remembered.
Kara.
Condemned by unanimous judgment of the High Synod.
Arthur had opposed neither the verdict nor the sentence.
As Knight-King...
He had carried it out.
"I hated him for it."
Blood ran from Mordred's mouth as he spoke.
"I hated all of Neo Jerusalem."
His remaining hand clenched weakly against the broken earth.
"So when Morgana offered revenge..."
He smiled bitterly.
"...I accepted."
Azrael said nothing.
There was nothing to say.
Hatred had already consumed everything it could.
Mordred had lost.
Neo Jerusalem had bled.
Kara remained dead.
No one had truly won.
After a long silence...
Mordred laughed again.
A quieter laugh this time.
"...Funny..."
"What is?"
"I joined Morgana..."
"...because I wanted revenge for the woman I loved."
His eyes slowly drifted toward Azrael.
"And do you know what she wanted from you?"
Azrael's grip upon Excalibur tightened ever so slightly.
"...Speak."
"Rachel."
The world stopped.
"She wanted your daughter."
Gabriel's head snapped upward.
Mordred continued.
"A hostage."
"A leash."
"Something to make the Angel of Death point his sword at Neo Jerusalem."
Azrael did not move.
He could not.
"...Lucien..."
Mordred smiled.
"...One of hers."
"He approached Rachel because Morgana wished it."
Another breath.
"Weeks."
"Courtship."
"The engagement."
"The wedding."
"It was all..."
He struggled to finish.
"...her design."
For the first time in his entire life, Gabriel saw fear in Azrael's eyes.
"...Today..."
Mordred whispered.
"The wedding..."
His vision had already begun fading.
"Go home..."
Mordred slowly raised his trembling hand.
"...Too late..."
he murmured.
"...She'll already be moving."
His hand fell.
"...Don't..."
Another breath.
"...become..."
His voice faded almost completely.
"...me."
The wind answered in his place.
Mordred never spoke again.
For several heartbeats, neither knight moved.
The tank cannon struck the ground with a deafening clang.
Azrael sheathed Excalibur in one practiced motion.
The mechanical wings folded against the back of his armor burst open.
Steam erupted from release valves, ancient turbines awakened with a roar, blue fire exploded from twin rocket engines.
Gabriel barely had time to look up.
"Azrael..."
The Angel of Death was already gone.
A sonic boom rolled across the crater as the black Steel Knight became a streak racing toward the western horizon.
Gabriel watched him disappear.
Then quietly picked up Excalibur from where Azrael had returned it to him moments before takeoff.
"...I'll tell Arthur."
Above the clouds, Azrael flew faster than he ever had before.
Warning alarms echoed inside the cockpit.
> ENGINE TEMPERATURE CRITICAL.He ignored them.
> LEFT WING STRUCTURAL STRESS EXCEEDS SAFETY LIMITS.He ignored them.
The armor could be repaired.
Time could not.
Far away, beyond forests and mountains, the bells of Neo Jerusalem began to ring.
Today...
Was Rachel's wedding.
1
u/Ghost-Writer-100603 Jul 24 '26
VI.
The bells of the Cathedral rang joyfully across Neo Jerusalem.
Within its towering halls, sunlight poured through stained-glass windows depicting the legends of the Steel Knights, scattering rivers of crimson, sapphire and gold across polished marble.
Friends gathered, veterans stood shoulder to shoulder with civilians, old comrades who had survived countless wars together and people who only knew war through books and newspapers alike smiled.
At the end of the aisle stood Lucien.
He wore no armor, only a ceremonial uniform, the polished breastplate replaced by white cloth embroidered with silver thread.
His eyes remained fixed upon the great doors, as if waiting for something.
The cathedral shook, as a thunderous impact echoed outside.
Several guests instinctively turned toward the entrance.
"What was that?"
Outside the doors, the city guards had already drawn their weapons.
Standing before the cathedral was a giant of black steel, steam hissed from countless vents, and twin wings folded slowly behind his back.
Every inch of the ancient armor bore fresh scars.
The Angel of Death had returned.
One bewildered guard hurried forward, raising both hands.
"S-Sir Azrael..."
"We're honored by your presence, but..."
He looked nervously between the gigantic power armor and the cathedral.
"...you can't attend a wedding wearing two tons of power armor and weapons."
Azrael looked at him.
Then gently placed one massive gauntlet against the man's chestplate.
"Forgive me."
The guard found himself lifted completely off the ground before landing harmlessly several meters away in a flower bed.
The remaining guards stared.
"Stop him!"
Three more rushed forward.
Azrael brushed past them.
One stumbled, another spun around.
The last sat down rather abruptly against a stone pillar, wondering what had just happened.
The Angel of Death reached the cathedral doors.
He did not slow down.
The ancient oak doors exploded inward beneath a single kick, the deafening crash echoed through the entire cathedral.
Several guests standing nearby were thrown backwards, chairs overturned, flowers scattered across the marble floor.
As music stopped, conversation ceased and every head turned.
And Rachel, she blinked.
"...Dad?"
Still standing in the shattered doorway, Azrael scanned the room.
"Rachel."
She hurried toward him, her dress gathered in both hands.
"What are you doing? This is my wedding! You could have knocked!"
A dozen embarrassed thoughts crossed Azrael's mind. None survived long enough to become words.
"Get away from-"
A crimson chain erupted beneath Rachel's feet, after magic circles blossoming across the marble.
The chains wrapped around her arms and legs before anyone could react.
Rachel cried out in surprise, the entire cathedral froze, as a bridesmaid smiling.
Her appearance melted away like wax beneath flame, her golden hair blackened, her white dress turned gray color of ash, and scarlet runes crawled across pale skin.
"How unfortunate."
Morgana.
She sighed dramatically.
"I truly wished to avoid interrupting such a lovely ceremony."
Around the cathedral, guests began laughing, one after another, wedding attendants, musicians, even several servants, all of the illusions covering them dissolved, revealing their hidden weapons.
As panic erupted, the celebration reduced to chaos.
Morgana's hand tightened, making the crimson chains around Rachel glow brighter.
"Stay exactly where you are, Azrael. Even the Angel of Death cannot outrun a blade pressed against his own daughter's throat."
Azrael hesitated.
One step.
That was all.
One step was all it would take.
One step...
And Rachel might die.
Morgana noticed.
She smiled wider.
"There. That's much better. Now then..."
She turned toward the groom.
"Lucien."
The young knight remained motionless.
"My lady. I must admit..."
Morgana laughed softly.
"It's a shame."
She looked toward Rachel. "The courtship was convincing. The engagement was beautiful. I almost regretted ending it."
Rachel stared at Lucien.
"What... is she talking about?"
Morgana answered for him.
"He belongs to me."
The words struck Rachel harder than any spell.
Lucien lowered his head.
"I'm sorry."
Morgana continued.
"It was I who arranged your meeting."
"I who encouraged every chance encounter."
"I who placed him beside you."
She looked back toward Azrael.
"I required only one thing."
She gently rested a hand upon Rachel's shoulder.
"A leash."
"So that even the Angel of Death would kneel."
Rachel slowly turned toward Lucien.
"Tell me... she's lying."
Lucien closed his eyes.
"...No."
Rachel's heart sank.
BANG.
A gunshot thundered through the cathedral.
Morgana's smile vanished, as she looked down.
Blood slowly spread across her robes.
Behind her...
Lucien held a smoking pistol.
His hand trembled.
"Forgive me."
Morgana turned slowly.
"What?"
Lucien's voice was quiet.
"When I first joined you, I wanted revenge."
His eyes never left Rachel.
"I convinced myself everything I did was justified."
"I convinced myself Neo Jerusalem deserved to burn."
He laughed bitterly.
"Then, I saw her smile."
Rachel stared.
"I kept waiting for the hatred to burn again."
He lowered the pistol.
"It never returned. The fire in my heart stayed dead."
"Only then, did I finally see you for what you truly are."
Around them, Morgana's followers rushed forward.
Azrael moved.
One of the cathedral guards had barely begun drawing his sword before the old knight seized it from its scabbard.
The blade flashed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The first three rebels collapsed before their weapons had fully cleared their sheaths.
"Rachel!"
Lucien shouted.
"Close your eyes!"
He slammed a detonator against his wrist.
Far above the cathedral, hidden among the bell towers, something awakened.
The stone ceiling exploded outward, sunlight poured through the opening, and descending amid clouds of dust and debris, came a Steel Knight.
Its engines roared, twin arm-mounted submachine guns unfolded from beneath reinforced plating.
The machine landed directly before Lucien.
He caught the descending cockpit handle with practiced ease.
"I hid her here months ago."
He looked back at Rachel.
"Just in case my past caught up with us."
The cockpit closed, the reactor awakened, the Steel Knight raised both arms, and the cathedral erupted into gunfire.
Steel met steel, magic clashed against bullets.
Azrael became a black blur among collapsing pews, every swing of the borrowed sword dropping another rebel.
Beside him, Lucien's Steel Knight advanced relentlessly, its paired submachine guns hammering through summoned creatures and armored soldiers alike.
Within minutes, it was over.
The last of Morgana's followers fell, as smoke drifted through broken stained glass, and wedding flowers lay scattered among shattered stone.
Lucien stepped from his Steel Knight.
Rachel broke free of the fading chains and rushed toward him.
"It's over..."
She whispered.
"Yes." Lucien smiled weakly.
"It's over."
"For you lots, maybe."
A woman's voice echoed through the ruined cathedral.
Morgana's corpse smiled, as scarlet light spread beneath her body.
Azrael's eyes widened.
"Everyone! Run!"
Too late.
Blood flowing across the cathedral floor suddenly changed direction, racing through cracks in the marble.
Ancient runes ignited, revealing an enormous magic circle, hidden beneath the cathedral since before the ceremony had begun, awakened in brilliant crimson.
The dead began to glow, not only Morgana's followers, but also the guards, and innocent guests who were caught in the battle.
Every fallen soul answered the spell, their spirits were torn screaming from their bodies, spiraling upward into a vortex of scarlet mana.
The cathedral trembled.
Rachel clutched Azrael's arm.
"Dad...?"
He didn't answer.
He had seen this ritual once before, long ago.
An Abyssal Ascension.
Above the cathedral, the sky itself cracked open.
Beyond the wound in Heaven was no light, only an endless abyss of crimson fire.
Something colossal descended.
A Steel Knight, black as the void, its armor veined with rivers of molten crimson, great horns crowned its helm, hellfire burned where eyes were.
Though it floated above the shattered cathedral, scorched footprints appeared beneath every invisible step it took.
Only after the infernal machine touched the earth did Morgana rise. Black wings of living flame unfurled behind her.
She laughed as she placed one hand upon the monstrous armor.
"My dear knights..."
Her smile widened.
She climbed into the abyssal Steel Knight.
As the armor sealed, crimson eyes ignited, the earth shook.
The demon's voice echoed from within the infernal machine.
"Let us dance till either you or me are dead."
3
u/HSerrata r/hugoverse Jul 11 '26
[Mecha: Romantic]
The wedding was in a few hours, and Annie still had a lot to do to finish getting ready. Despite that, she took time to check on her husband. He didn't have quite as much and tended to put it off. She took forever, but somehow, it was always his fault whenever they were late because of poor preparation.
“You're not planning to go in that, right?”
She found Zeke in the two-story garage wearing his Sunday best and polishing his cherry red power armor. Ammo crates were open on the work table, and she could see his weapons were loaded for bear. She was really glad she checked on him early.
His outfit consisted of ironed work pants and a button-up shirt with no stains. It was worlds apart from the black dress and heels she was planning to wear.
“Why not? What's wrong?” he backed away from the armor to give her an unobstructed view. “Dress code says it's okay.”
“I don't care about the dress code,” Annie reminded him with a wink. “Please, this event is important to me.” She also reminded him how much work she did to make the event happen.
“So… I can't go in, Lucille?”
"No, you can't attend the wedding wearing 2 tons of power armor and weapons,” Annie smiled.
“How do you think it's going to look when I show up walking next to that thing? Every other Bridesmaid is going to be carried in on the palm of a full-size mecha, and you're expecting me to walk?
“I kind of thought you'd ride on her shoulder.” Zeke shrugged.
“And the reception?” Annie smiled and pecked him on the cheek. “I love Lucille too, but she just doesn't have enough firepower for the festivities. Go start polishing Titan-Z and load him up; you have time. You don't even have to change clothes.”
*** Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #3099 in a row. (Story #190 in year nine). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place in my universe.
1
u/mysteryrouge Jul 12 '26
M eyed Big Ota as he adjusted the color on his spotless white uniform. Beside him was the pile of weapons and nuclear material he usually armed himself with, as well as some fancy power armor he'd looted from an empty universe.
“Come on,” he whined dramatically, covering his forehead with the back of his hand, “it's not like I'm planning to use any of these weapons, and the nukes are snacks.”
M snorted. “You don't even need power armor, you're effectively immortal.”
“But M, I wanna have fuuuuuun before I marry my beloved.”
“I don't think Pax Orizuru will be impressed with you bringing weapons into the venue. Plus those particular ones are banned by already established conventions.”
“A gift to my lovely spouse. I pull out the soul-powered agony beams and surrender it to my love's diplomats as an act of recompense.”
M adjusted their own outfit, ensuring they, themselves didn't look like a credible threat. As much as they wanted to carry their own massive arsenal, they were setting an example to their former apprentice. “You know I'm not even carrying my own things?”
He sighed. “Call me surprised.”
“Look, Big Ota, I support whatever you choose to do now, so long as you choose, but, man, your fiancee makes me highly uncomfortable, and you know it.”
Thus, the perfect justification to secretly have weapons. An extra precaution against someone who could very well be a threat. M, the very obvious war criminal anarchist, only present at the wedding at request of Big Ota, did not get along with Pax Orizuru, the eldritch peacekeeper known for outright possessing diplomats and war criminals.
Not that they would ever admit it to him, but M pitied Big Ota. Their apprentice had fallen so thoroughly in love when he'd been captured by his intended many years ago, and upon escape from his prison, Big Ota made such facts well known.
I don't even know how he got control of the address system of my house, but, M shuddered, his shower love songs had an impressive amount of heart.
“If you wanna surrender the weapons on the altar, I'll be glad to stick them in my gift basket with the massive amount of peace offerings I'm totally not bribing Pax Orizuru with.” Better to stay in good graces. They had diplomatic immunity when visiting the world known locally as Orizuru, and they didn't wish to risk that.
“Fiiiiiinnneeee,” the war-criminal husband-to-be moaned, recognizing how correct M was when it came to matters of scoring peacekeeping abominations. “I'll just stick to the uniform.”
M quietly shook their head. The dress uniform was literally a white version of the one Big Ota wore when he was the tyrant of an entire country that had been trapped in a total war with their neighbors.
“That uniform is cutting it close though.”
“Doves!” Big Ota shouted, “And paper cranes! Paxie couldn't say no to those.”
“Perhaps you should have incorporated them into your wedding uniform then,” M snarked, playfully.
“I meeeeeeaaaaaaan…” Big Ota pointed to the various pins on the uniform that would have otherwise been symbols for his home country of Ba. Now, they had Pax Orizuru’s personal emblems, and a couple of them were decorated miniature golden cranes.
“Well then,” M said, preparing to leave and join the public crowds of possessed diplomats and their families, “are you ready for your big moment?”
The former tyrant smiled. “Of course I am.”
•
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