SUPER ROBOT WARS H

Disclaimer: I don't own the Banpresto Original Characters that appear in this work.

PROLOGUE

Once upon a time there was a war monger who possessed the ability to bend space time to his will, such that he could basically do massive dimension jumps with his eager band of warriors - and their war machines as well. One day, while he and his army were resting on their laurels (after subjugating a world where the armed forces used nothing but Hückebeins), an aged man in dark robes, his face covered with a wicker hat, approached the warlord.

"Hail, mighty one," the robed man greeted the warlord in his raspy voice.

"Hail to you too, ancient one," the warlord replied. The bodyguards accompanying the warlord gave no sign of seeing their visitor or hearing their leader speak. Curious, the warlord thought. "What brings you to our camp?"

The old man raised his head and fixed his hat, staring at the warlord with endless black eyes. "A vision of the future - your future."

"Ah. You saw me embarking on countless campaigns, returning in victory each time? But I have no need of visions such as that for the future, because it is all coming to pass in this present."

"I foresaw ownage and carnage, but it is of you and your once proud army."

"Preposterous!" the warlord cried, reaching for his blaster. When he looked down to see why he could not seem to grasp it, he gasped - his right hand was not at the end of his arm.

"You have just received a portent from the Dark Gods - you will not live forever, and already they are dancing in anticipation of your soul."

"Give me back my hand, foul sorcerer!"

"Me, o great one? I am but a seer."

"Give it back, or I shall have yours in its place!"

"It would be very interesting to see how you would explain to your soldiers about your hand, warlord."

"What are you-?" the warlord broke off as he beheld his right hand, whole and solid once more. As he stared at it uncomprehending, the robed man turned on his heel.

"It seems you do not wish to avert your fell destiny. Very well, I bid you enjoy the rest of your doomed life."

"No! Stay! Please. There is no need to be hasty! M- may I offer you something? Refreshments, perhaps?"

"A chair, for starters, would be nice."

The harried warlord snapped his fingers, but none of his guards moved.

"Don't bother with your men - around me, time flows as I will. Your men are trapped in a bubble of slow time, which I have excluded both of us from - a year for us would be but a second to them.

Warily, the warlord rose out of his chair and motioned for the seer to take it. The seer seated himself, and began to prophesy.

"Your end shall be brought about when the Shrike and Falcon pledge troth, and lead the child of they who have been blessed by the Four Beasts to deliver your death stroke. Two maidens aforementioned shall gambol with a Dancer-in-Darkness, and fornicate in her footsteps, but shadows will cover their deeds as surely as Death will embrace you."

Chilled to the bone, the warlord asked, "And how shall I prevent all these from coming to pass?"

"The Dancer is the key. Without her veil of darkness, their dark deeds shall be revealed. In light is revelation, in revelation lies hope. Revelation may yet turn the Shrike against the Falcon, light may yet see the Tiger King to rage against the Ruler of Dragons, and the Dancer shall be revealed as the Great Whore."

"So, all I have to do is kill this Dancer, and all will be well? Excellent! Tell me where I can find her, so I can rally my men."

The seer chuckled. "I am afraid it will not be that simple, my lord. See, even now she seeks an alliance with the Iron Giant, the Bear of Steel; she pleases the White Knight, known to as the Platinum Devil of the Battlefield. Siding with her as well is the War God mounted on a black Whirlwind, wielding The Sword That Cleaves All Before It, as well as the other members of the Order of the Masquerade. The Dancer's champions are more than a match for you, and those fanatical mortals who worship them are legion."

"Then how? If you say the truth, then all is lost! If we cannot get to her using strength, what is left?"

"Subterfuge, of course," replied the seer, his eyes gleaming.

"Subterfuge? Pardon, ancient one, but we are warriors, not assassins or spies!"

"Hmm? It is as you say, none of your men - or even your women, sadly - have a talent for subterfuge or trickery." The seer leaned toward the warlord. "But I do, my lord, and in abundance."

"Are you offering to join my ranks! Praise the Blood God! You may name your price, in exchange for being among our numbers!"

"Fufufufu. A generous offer, my lord, but I prefer to work as a retainer. Would you like to see my contract?"

At the warlord's nod, a pentagram of flame appeared in the air in front of him, and a skeletal hand came out, clutching a parchment scroll in its bony grip. Grimacing, the warlord took it, unrolled it, and read the contents. When he had finished, he was no longer grimacing, but his face was in a thoughtful frown.

"Well, my lord? What is your answer?"

"If I agree to this, you will prevent my prophesied death?"

"If you agree to the terms written in the scroll, I shall set into motion a series of events that will expose the Dancer's secret deeds - and I've explained how important she is, have I not?"

After a long silence, the warlord spoke. "Then, in accordance to the terms of this contract, in exchange for your service, I do pledge my soul, those of my followers, and our implements of war, to the forces of Entropy, until the last star has burnt itself to dust." A crack of thunder punctuated the end of the short speech.

"Excellent, my lord. Now, I must leave and get to work thwarting this doom of yours. We will meet again, my lord. Have no worries, and leave it to me." In the blink of an eye, the seer was gone.