Markov (Akula) VS Crimson 1

The sky over Presidia bled a toxic, apocalyptic orange. Two apex predators each from a different war, both broken by their own demons clashed in a lethal dance over the burning city. There were no orders, no armies left to save. This was a private war perfect for burning revenges. Colonel Andrei Markov, the cold-blooded Russian ace known as "Akula," flew out of pure vengeance. His wife had been killed in a bombing raid years ago, and his soul died with her. Flying his rugged Su-35S with predatory precision, he used every ounce of his energy management to stay alive. To him, the glowing sky was just another battlefield to burn, and his opponent was the ultimate symbol of the warmongers who ruined his life. Behind him, cutting through the smoke like a crimson blade, was Crimson 1. Driven completely insane by defeat, the Federation ace had detonated apocalyptic Cordium weapons, wiping out his own home city just to satisfy his ego. Flying the futuristic PW-Mk.I, Crimson 1 couldn't accept that anyone else owned the sky. He blamed the whole world for his own madness, and he wanted to cleanse his failures in fire. Markov initiated a brutal break turn, pulling extreme Gs to snap the Su-35S around. He slammed the throttles into full afterburner, dumping flares as a volley of micro-missiles tracking his heat signature exploded just yards from his tail. The Flanker groaned under the stress, its variable-thrust nozzles screaming as it pitched up into a violent Cobra maneuver. Crimson 1 anticipated the trap. Instead of overshooting, he utilized the futuristic, forward-swept wing aerodynamics of the PW-Mk.I to violently pivot on his axis. The experimental jet cracked and hissed with unstable orange energy, a pulsing energy shield absorbing the stray cannon fire Markov threw his way. They dove into the sea of orange clouds, trading missile locks and high-speed turns, determined to see who would be the last monster standing when the sky finally collapsed.