Blue tongues of flame licked the heavy side-plating of the Land Crawler Mk.I, emitting a piercing hiss. Molten welding rods dripped like liquid tears. The air was a suffocating soup of ozone, tar, and unburned diesel—choking industrial waste that served as my only sedative.
“Builder!”
Sarak, the goblin Chief Engineer, scrambled out from beneath the chassis. She was covered in grease, Her goggles hanging lopsided. Her voice was a shrill rasp. “This violates every protocol! The boiler hasn't finished pre-heating! Forcing this dual-mount turret onto the frame will snap the suspension! It’s a desecration of the Machine God!”
“Then let it snap!”
I cut the torch, flipped up my mask, and stared at the nervous little woman with bloodshot eyes. “If this truck doesn't leave the shop today, I’ll weld you to the roof as an ornament.”
Sarak shrunk back, muttering something about a “madman” before turning to kick his apprentices into high gear. I dropped the torch and wiped the soot from my face. My hands were shaking.
Two hours had passed since Zayla left. I couldn't sit still. Every second of waiting felt like thousands of ants gnawing at my synapses. I had to bury myself in work—modifying this heavy ore-hauler—to numb the edge of the panic.
I walked to a workbench in the corner where a black, brick-like device sat. It was my Remote Audio Receiving Terminal.
I hadn't just stashed grenades under their wagon. I’d spent my remaining System Credits on a military-grade long-range bug and glued it to the inner side of the supply cart’s fuel tank. No video, just audio. In a world with magic-warped physics, its effective range was a gamble.
“Crr-hiss... static...”
A grating wave of white noise bled from the speaker. Lyn poked her head out from a pile of salvaged junk nearby. The money-obsessed fox-kin hadn't slept either. She claimed she was “monitoring resource consumption,” but her twitching, upright ears gave her away.
“Anything?” she whispered.
“Still connecting.” I donned the headset, my fingers micro-adjusting the frequency knob, hunting for a specific band amidst the electromagnetic clutter of the wasteland.
Suddenly, it hit.
“...Three o’clock... sentry...”
The voice was faint, blurred by static, but I recognized it instantly. Zayla. My heart seized. I signaled Lyn for silence and cranked the volume, leaning over the table like a frozen statue.
The world on the other end delivered a visceral narrative.
The friction of cloth against grass.
Stolen novel; please report.
The wet thud of a dagger slicing a windpipe.
The dry shhh-shhh of a body being dragged into the brush.
It was going well. Too well.
“Hmph, seems the Cat-kin still have their teeth,” I heard Ron, the lieutenant, whisper through the feed. “These bird-men are wide open.”
I leaned back, exhaling a breath I’d been holding since midnight. My shirt was plastered to my back with cold sweat. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the Storm Clan was negligent. Maybe she actually—
BZZZZZZT—!
A high-frequency scream erupted in the headset. It wasn't microphone feedback. It was the sound of a high-density mana field igniting, shredding the radio signal. I ripped the headset off, my ears ringing with a painful whine.
“What happened?!” Lyn jumped.
“Mana interference... heavy jamming!” I didn't care about the tinnitus. I pressed the headset back to my ears, ignoring the volume levels. The world on the other end had shifted from stealth to slaughter.
“WHOOO-WHOOO-WHOOO—!!!”
The piercing shriek of a magical alarm tore through the airwaves.
“TRAP! RETREAT! FALL BACK!” Zayla’s roar, even distorted by electricity, was saturated with terror. Then came the beasts. Not one. A pack.
“ROAR—!”
“Ah! My leg!”
“This way! Into the treeline!”
Chaos. Absolute and total. I gripped the edge of the table so hard my nails bit into the wood. I wanted to scream at her, tell her where to turn, tell her about the ambush behind her, but I was just a listener. A powerless observer.
“Grenades! Use the grenades!”
BOOM! BOOM!
The familiar, sharp reports of the MK-1 grenades crackled through the feed. The animalistic roars thinned out for a moment. They’d torn a gap in the line.
“They have a chance... they can break out...” I muttered, staring at the flickering signal light like a pulse monitor.
Then, a new sound emerged.
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—
The heavy thrum of massive wings displacing the air. Then, a cold, detached male voice drifted through the static.
“...Purge them.”
My pupils constricted. No. Not that. Please, not that.
KRA-KOOM————!!!
A deafening roar shattered the microphone's input. It wasn't the explosion of gunpowder; it was the sound of thunder hitting the earth. A sickening electrical hiss followed, mixed with the crackle of burning flesh.
“SCATTER!! RON!!” Zayla’s voice was a jagged scream of agony.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Peals of thunder. With every roar, the signal light flared violently before dimming—the electromagnetic pulse was frying my equipment.
“Alex...” Lyn stood beside me, hand over her mouth, tears spilling over. She couldn't hear the audio, but she could read the destruction on my face.
It was a massacre. The headset gave one final, stuttering transmission.
“...Into the cave... quickly...”
“...Come on! You bastards!!”
Zayla’s final roar. Then, a sharp, prolonged eeeeeee—. The signal light died. The headset went cold. The bug had been destroyed, or the wagon carrying it had been reduced to ash.
I stayed frozen, holding the headset for five seconds. The shop was quiet, save for the bubbling of a boiler in the distance. Sarak had stopped working, holding his wrench as he stared at me.
I slowly took off the headset and placed it on the table. My hands were no longer shaking. The anxiety, the fear, the hesitation—it all vanished the moment the signal flatlined. In its place was a cold, crystalline rage.
I turned to the unfinished steel monster behind me.
“Sarak.” My voice was as calm as a lecture on fluid dynamics.
“Y-yes?”
“Weld the safety valves shut.”
“What?” Sarak blinked, certain he’d misheard.
“Weld. The valves. Shut. I’m running at overpressure.”
I grabbed my tactical vest and strode toward the cabin of the Land Crawler Mk.I. “Power up. Ignition. We’re going out.”
Lyn wiped her eyes and caught my sleeve. “Alex, the signal is gone... are they...?”
I looked back at her. “Until I see a body, she’s alive. And even if she isn't...”
I yanked open the heavy steel hatch with a resonant clang. “I’m going to knock those winged vermin out of the sky and bury them with her.”
Question of the Day: Alex is welding the safety valves to push the steam engine past its rated limits. What is the most likely consequence?
?? A) Catastrophic Boiler Failure.
The truck explodes before reaching the battlefield. Game over (unless the Architect's skill kicks in).
?? B) Extreme Speed/Torque Boost.
The Land Crawler Mk.I moves twice as fast, but the engine is permanently damaged after the mission.
?? C) Thermal Weaponization.
The excess steam can be vented through the side ports, creating a localized "scald zone" to keep enemies from boarding the vehicle.
Follow and Rate for more industrial madness!