Protector Henry Casdin stood frozen for a long moment, his usually stern face betraying an expression of raw disbelief. The recording he was watching was far from ordinary.
It wasn't just the speed or the efficiency with which the two Knightmare Frames, Barbatos and Kyrios, tore through everything in their path. It was the utter, overwhelming power they wielded in a single, fluid motion that left Casdin momentarily speechless.
The footage played in eerie silence across the flickering monitor in the Outcasts' command bunker. Even the hum of nearby terminals seemed to fade away as Casdin stood, arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a hard line.
On the screen, the two mechs moved with terrifying precision, cutting down enemy forces and structures alike. Barbatos moved like a demon — sleek, vicious, utterly unstoppable. It tore through armored vehicles, fortified training constructs, with a single swing of its massive mace it shattered reinforced steel plating like wet paper.
Right behind it came Kyrios, its aerial frame weaving through simulated anti-air fire before transforming mid-flight and unleashing a barrage of precision plasma fire. In less than seconds, the entire battlefield was reduced to scorched rubble.
The scale of devastation was hard to comprehend. An entire battalion of enemy combatants was decimated within seconds. A city block was reduced to rubble in less than a minute.
The sheer force of the Knightmare Frames offensive capabilities was beyond anything Casdin had seen in his long years of combat.
The operative who had recorded the test video continued narrating with a calm, almost detached tone, describing the test's results:
"Both units perform beyond expectations. Barbatos exhibited extraordinary melee efficiency while Kyrios proved highly effective in aerial ranged assault, rendering most targets unrecognizable in moments. Casualties are estimated to be in the hundreds—potentially more once further data is collected."
Casdin's fist clenched so tightly it nearly cracked his armored gauntlet. He forced his mind to focus on the facts—no matter how alarming the footage was. These machines, these weapons, were not like anything the Brotherhood had ever used.
They were precise, lethal, and utterly devastating—exactly the type of tools the Outcasts could use to reshape the wasteland's balance of power.
But the implications… The sheer scope of their potential use—against allies, against enemies, against anything—was overwhelming. Casdin could see it now. If these machines, these Knightmare Frames, were integrated into his Brotherhood's arsenal, they could dominate any enemy force they encountered.
It was clear that Six VI had engineered a weapon far beyond the capabilities of any of their current technology, even surpassing the might of power armor.
Still, Casdin couldn't ignore the unease gnawing at the pit of his stomach. The Brotherhood was founded on honor, duty, and the preservation of mankind's most advanced technologies. But these... these machines didn't represent that.
They were tools of destruction first and foremost, tools that could be twisted in ways even Casdin, in all his experience, couldn't predict.
Finally, he spoke, his voice a quiet growl, betraying the storm raging in his mind.
"We need more than just data. We need control this machines."
His words were grim, though there was a fire in his eyes now.
He looked to the operative, who had stayed eerily silent, waiting for orders.
"Start contacting all active cells in the field. I want a full analysis of these Knightmare Frames and their weaknesses. If they are this effective... then the Brotherhood Outcasts has to either make them ours or eliminate them entirely before they're used against us."
The operative nodded quickly, already typing commands into the console. But Casdin's thoughts were far from over. He wasn't just watching a test anymore—he was seeing the potential end of the Brotherhood as he knew it. He couldn't allow this new weapon to slip through their fingers.
He clenched his fist tighter, his mind set.
"If this is the future of war… then we'll adapt. But the West Coast will have to pay the price for every life they've costus."
___________________________________
While Protector Henry Casdin was nearly hyperventilating over the sheer battlefield dominance of Barbatos and Kyrios—his worldview shaking with every replayed frame—Six was casually flying in style aboard one of his Prydwens, en route to Shady Sands to accept his new position as Secretary of Agriculture.
Yes, agriculture.
Because, of course, nothing screams "minister of food and crops" like a battle-hardened superhuman gunslinger currently training swordsmanship under the former Pirate King, Gol D. Roger.
Inside the training deck of the Prydwen, Six grunted as another smack landed squarely on his shoulder. Roger, grinning with that mischievous glint only legends carry, wielded his sword with the grace of a dancer and the cruelty of a demon gym instructor.
"Get your back straight. Relax your grip. You are holding your sword to fight, not trying to strangle it to death. Swing."
Six's arms were trembling—not from the weight (though that was considerable), but from the sheer concentration it took to channel Armament Haki through his weapon without it slipping out of flow.
And then—
Smack!
Another bone-jarring strike. He was pretty sure something in his shoulder popped. The blunt end of Roger's sword didn't cut—but it might as well have.
Correction:Learning to channel Armament Haki into a weapon for swordsmanship is extremely tedious.
He stood with his feet dug into the reinforced training mat, sweat soaking through his blindfold. Weights were strapped to his legs, arms, back, and even his damn neck. His ears were covered with tight, noise-canceling muffs. He was effectively blind, deaf, and exhausted.
And Roger still expected ten thousand swings after maintaining his stance for an hour.
"Yes. This stance. Now maintain it for the next hour."
Roger said casually.
"After that, ten thousand swings."
That would have been the end of it... if Roger didn't randomly chuck pebbles at him—every one of them imbued with Armament Haki. The worst part? Six had to dodge them without moving from his stance.
If he moved too much, Roger would start over.
And then came the cherry on top: Conqueror's Haki bursts. No warning. Just BAM—overwhelming will pressure that threatened to make him collapse, go unconscious, or worse, lose his center.
Six had been waiting to learn Conqueror's Haki for a while now. Too bad it can't be taught. He had to unlock it on his own.
Between the constant pain, dizzying pressure, and physical punishment, most people would've passed out or given up.
But Six was grinning like a lunatic under his blindfold. Because beneath the pain… beneath the sweat… something within was starting to stir.
Meanwhile, Casdin, watching a shaky cam feed of Barbatos casually decapitating a Behemoth with one swing, muttered under his breath:
"What kind of monster makes something like this…"
And back on the Prydwen, Roger paused just long enough to chuck another Haki-infused pebble straight at Six's ear.
Thwack.
Six didn't flinch.
Roger smiled.
"Good. Now do it again. You're almost there."