One lung, one motorbike; she had to push herself to generate enough Fulgur to push both machines to maximum output, releasing bodily limiters and digging into her deeper reserves, but by the Dead Ones, it worked. Suddenly, the giant arms of the Deterrence Fields began coming alive, perhaps roused by the truly immense outpour of Fulgur constantly being emitted from Zelsys. With dexterity and speed entirely unbefitting their gargantuan size, they sprung into motion and smashed down on them, missing them by barely more than ten meters.

Each subsequent titan arm missed by less, their timing honing in. There was only one logical solution at this point.

GO. EVEN. FASTER.

Blood boiling, heart pounding like a piston in her chest, a trail of Fog so thick erupting from her face that it shrouded the bike in silver threads and lightning. The speed dial entered the red zone, beyond designed specifications even for this overbuilt monster. It didn’t matter. Titan arm after titan arm smashed down behind them in an effort to pulverize them without regard for whether or not they crushed one of their own golems. The ground shuddered beneath them as if it were splitting open in their wake, but neither of the four saw the cause.

Trusting Jorfr’s remark about how the golems wouldn’t give chase outside the Deterrence Fields, Zel completely dropped her Engine Breathing and slammed the brakes the moment they passed the dead titan’s feet; Jorfr followed suit. The brakes screamed as they struggled to stop the wheels, the machine’s great mass throwing up sprays of dirt and stones as they carved gashes into the mountain slope.

Zel’s Sturmgandr came to a halt in a sideways skid mere meters from the arch which was formed by the dead giant’s lower jaw. She heard the other machine smash into the jawbone just as she got her bearings, the impact causing Victor to lose his grip and careen off the vehicle to a dangerous vicinity of the gaping sinkhole which yawned inside the titan’s mouth; the eponymous Mouth of Prasticaris. Instinctively springing into action to stop the redhead from falling into the pit, Zel dismounted her bike and sprinted over to him, catching a glimpse of the numerous ladders and platforms which led down into the pit. A comparatively heavy-duty pulley system hung over the pit, secured to the titan’s upper jaw; a blackstone platform was attached.

She could feel that there was something wrong with the young man, but not quite what.

“Hey, hey. Look at me. You alright?”

A pained grumble emerged from his throat as he cracked one eye open, uttering: “My head’s splitting open… And it feels like I’ve had influenza for three weeks. I’ll be alright, I think. Just… Just need rest. And Viriditas. And painkillers.”

“By the ancestors, they woke up…” came a bewildered utterance from Jorfr, prompting Zel to scoop Victor off the ground and just walk over to take a look at whatever had caused the Borean such bewilderment. The sight struck her so unexpectedly that she just dropped Victor wholesale, prompting a startled yelp, for he too had been awestruck by what he saw. Zef had already pulled out her fotoapparat and was feverishly taking photographs.

Down the mountain’s slope, a few meters from the dead titan’s skeletal feet, there stood a horde of spring-legged golems, staring them down and unmoving as if to form a wall, but they were not the sight in question. It was that which towered behind them, rising from the splintered earth; the owners of the gigantic arms which were so iconic to the Deterrence Fields. Several Ankhezian titans had partially exhumed themselves, their heads and upper torsos peering out from the crumbling surface of their cemetery; lilac stars burned in the empty sockets on their macabre faces, gaping holes where their mouths ought to be, the baleful light of unknown arcane mechanisms shining at the backs of their throats. Barely-human skeletons wrapped in deathless plant-muscle, staring down at the quartet with empty, pensive eyes worthy of dogs who had just realized that they had mistakenly run out of their kennels to chase a nonexistent burglar.

“Well, we’re out of the pan…” she sighed, turning her eyes towards her Sturmgandr. “Let’s see if the gandrs are in any state to keep going before we jump into the fire. If it comes down to it we can set up camp here, dismantle them for working parts and go down the pit in the morning.”

Wasting no time standing around, Zel walked over to Jorfr’s machine, pulling the Butcher free and stashing it away. She then began giving the machine a checkup that was meticulous and swift in equal measure, polished by thorough study of the maintenance manuals. Meanwhile, Zefaris openly stated: “We might also want to hurry up with those countermeasures the Smoke Witch suggested. I saw the Antediluvian Gem glowing.”

She turned her eye to Victor, opening her left and staring him down for a few seconds in an effort to determine if something had happened to him.

“...And you should get started with the Walking Way of the Despot of Self. At least once that spiritual strain injury heals.”

No vocal response came from the redhead; he reached up to his chest as he stared off to the side in wide-eyed realization. Then, a murmur: “Shit, that does explain why it worked. Does that… Does that mean the old man is waking up in there? Did he intervene as some self-preservation instinct? But if that’s the case, why has nothing like this happened earlier?”

Tension and angst built in his voice, but somewhat surprisingly, the panic which snuck its way in was gone as quickly as it came as he gripped the gemstone and pulled it from his neck.

“You might not have been close enough to a suitable host for the gem to react, at least that’s my guess,” Zef shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter either way. I won’t depend on a thing that would seek to control me; a fucking parasite,” he spat, stowing the gem away as he turned to retrieve his staff.

“All the more reason to get started on the Despot of Self as quickly as possible,” came an encouraging remark from Zel.