Specter Fortress
Interior
1st floor
The laser did a complete 180°, throwing it right into the path of robotic Hiro. It’s eyes lit up with danger signs as the laser blasted toward him. He held up his prototype keyblade, trying to mimic the barrier attack, which held for all of half a second before failing.
*FWOOOSH!!*
The beam washed over metal Hiro, it’s metal center body incinerating much like the tank pieces did. It’s arms and legs were fused into molten crisps of metal while the keyblade which he audaciously held out invidnersted completely. It’s body collapsed in on itself, the legs shattering apart due to the weight. This left the head of the mech resting on top a pile of scrap metal, light slowly fading from it’s Eyes. The deed was done.
Specter Fortress (Exterior)
The weapons on the side of the fortress began to rittle kale’s position, more turrets being added to the hull by engineer drones in a hurry. From specter’s monitor, he saw another blip. He seemed rather confused that turrets were going offline rapidly. He tapped open The alert pop up, getting a live feed of the turrets attacking her relentlessly. His eyes lost his usual cool and composed personna as they were instead filled with alarm. He slammed on a button on his chair. His chair beginning to light up blue, and aura surrounding it. This requires a personal touch...
in a flash, specter had teleported from inside his ship to out into the open, a hundred feet from Kale. He held up his hand to the defense, staring Kale down intently.
“Hold your fire!”
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The defenses seemed to stop attacking Kale, standing down at Specter’s beckon call. He was there sittings too his floating throne staring her down. He didn’t seem to have his cultured confidence displayed, more so an judgmental cringe plastered on his face.
“Kale. Why have you done this? To attack your kin in such a manner is disturbing at the least.” specter uttered. “Why is it you have to fight? Why don’t we take this to my ship. And we can discuss this over a hot cut of earl grey tea?”
Specter’s demeanor was that of a disappointed mother or a scolding aunt, without any tinge of anger to be seen from his form. Having come himself, he intended to make a good first impression.