Without a split-second’s rest or hesitation he turned around, severing the tendril which threatened to grab him before he moved on to the second slash, which would destroy the monstrosity’s remaining cores.

Plunge the sword in. Deep breath. Exhale, step forward, cut. Pain. Muscles burning.

It didn’t matter. Crack. Crack. Crack. One core after another fell apart under his blade, clay giving way as easily as flesh.

Clay gave way under his feet as the beast lost cohesion, threatening to swallow him whole. Feet sinking. No purchase. Clay Soldiers and formless, shattered composites alike swarmed around him, burying the swordsman beneath tonnes of clay. The light of the sun was lost from sight.

“FILTH. PURGE. EXTERMINATE.”

Thoughts of unbound ultraviolence swarmed about in Strake’s mind, Zero’s fury surpassing anything he had experienced before, whether that be in testing or in Rigport. The machine’s engine howled like a rabid dog loosed against one who would murder its master, its output pushing the dials beyond the redline in spite of Strake’s attempts at control.

His focus wasn’t even on piloting anymore, just on keeping the tank’s unbound rage under some degree of control, on keeping himself alive, while his instincts did all the work of piloting. Pedals, levers, interface sleeves, they were no more disconnected from his brainstem than his own fingers, Zero’s engine was a second heart. Even as he reached for the gearshift he twisted his fingers into a gesture, commanding the machine to lower its output, knowing it would work for only a few scant seconds. This was enough.

Zero carried him beyond the battlefield, into the depths of the forest itself, barreling through Clay Soldiers and shattering their cores upon its frontal armor without even attempting to attack them. A Gestalt in sight, towering over the trees, wrought from dozens of claymen, a constellation of cores glistening within its cyclopean bulk. Gear six. No restrictions. Strake gave in, just a little bit. The Dog of War felt his own thoughts twisting and contorting in order to give form to the mech’s mindless, soulless influence.

“DESTROY. THIS SHALL NOT BE PERMITTED. THIS FILTH MUST BE PURGED. DESTROY, ANNIHILATE, OBLITERATE. WILLOWDALE STANDS. IKESIA STANDS.”

A wild slalom betwixt the trees, ripping the forest floor, tearing out roots and saplings alike, before he impelled Zero into a jump, the lower sections of its legs compressing before they shot out, leaving a crater in the ground as the great machine rocketed skyward directly onto the side of the Gestalt. Hardened clay shattered like sugar glass, soft clay gave way without resistance. The blood-red destroyer clambered up the side of its foe, using its pilebunkers both as climbing tools and to impart such kinetic shock through the mass that it cracked the beast’s cores. So deep were some, however, that Strake had to first soften it up with two pilebunker shots before firing his anti-cultivator cannon into the hole, its high-penetration shells carving through meters of clay without issue and striking at the many hearts of the monster.

Zelsys carved her way deeper and deeper into the horde, altogether ignoring the lesser claymen in favor of picking off more dangerous Composites and Gestalts. She’d long passed the treeline, leaving the bulk of the battle to the main force, trusting them to clean up the rabble. She had jumped up into a tree to avoid being surrounded, outright wedging her fingers and climbing-claws into the wood rather than trying to grab a branch, scoping out the environment below and threats in the vicinity.

Claymen as far as the eye could see, a few dozen sub 3-core “Lesser” Composites, maybe half a dozen 3-10 core “Greater” Composites, and two Gestalts. One, a lumbering, mostly humanoid form, quite some distance into the woods even from here, the other closer to Willowdale. It was a nearly formless thing with… The blood-red walking tank scaling it. Yes, this one would fall. Leaping from tree to tree, Zel traversed the forest while remaining entirely out of the claymen’s reach, soon leaping onto the Gestalt on the same side as Strake’s mech, at first scaling it using her cleaver as an anchor. Soon, she realized it would be faster to put it away and use her bare hands and climbing claws, scrambling up the side like some tree-ape. Zero didn’t acknowledge her, or at least didn’t show any sign that Strake had noticed her, continuing its furious, rhythmic onslaught. Pilebunker, pilebunker, cannon. Pilebunker, pilebunker, cannon. Again and again, core after core, only ever stopping to fend off the Gestalt’s attempts to get him off. How the clay held up under the machine’s tremendous mass was a mystery, regardless of how deep its legs were embedded into the clay. But then, the clay was tougher than it had any right to be.

Before she could continue on, however, Strake’s voice blasted out of the ultracompact tank. It was distorted and steeped in anger.

“CORE CLUSTER AT THE CENTER OF THE MASS. OUT OF MY REACH. PILEBUNKERS AND HI-PEN SHELL ALONE INSUFFICIENT. HARDENED CLAY AROUND THE CORE CLUSTER CLOSES BACK UP TOO QUICKLY. USE YOUR THUNDERCANNON. LIVE UP TO YOUR MONIKER, BUTCHER.”

So be it, then. Up and up and up she climbed, all the way to the top of the bulbous, headless form, seeing human faces scattered in the clay all over the Gestalt as she went. One by one, she severed its arms, the great limbs falling to the earth. The true reason why she scaled the titan, however, was to get at its cores, just like Zero. She clambered all the way to the top, briefly standing still as she look out across the forest and saw the smoke rising from the battlefield - just a moment, for there was naught else to do. Even now she kept the engine going, even now she stockpiled power in her second stomach. Fulgur upon Fulgur, while she grasped the Impelling Arm’s bolt and worked it to remove the loaded, low-yield shell.

KA-CLACK.

A high-penetration shell to replace it, the two switching spots on her belt.