“Well, that’s a bit more dangerous than I expected…” Axton muttered as he pushed Franken into a winding, zig-zagging movement. He had to give these Gnolls credit; they had surprised him with the act of making an improvised cannon out of a discarded mech-use rifle. There was just one major issue that seemed to keep that cannon from being of any use, though.

“YaaaaoOOooYyyAAAuuuUAh! NaaaaAAAhNGrAaaAm GA!”

And that problem was that the Gnolls were seemingly more interested in singing to him the song of their people than firing the weapon. Sure, if the round shot from the gun his Franken it would do a fair bit of damage, but that was if the round hit.

Given the Gnolls seemed more intent on chanting, dancing around, and covering themselves and the makeshift artillery piece in blood and gore, Axton figured that he could end this idiocy before they actually got around to pulling the trigger. He did want to save his ammo for later, though, so melee combat it was.

Thankfully, the cannon that they were using looked to only have a limited angle of elevation, and besides that, the housing that the gun was in, along with the weapon itself, looked like it had seen better days. Though he could risk a frontal charge, if they stopped dicking about and fired at him he would not be able to dodge in time if he did go in from the front.

As such, it was time to put on a bit of an air show. He wasn’t sure if they had ever seen a giant metal death robot fly, but they would before they died tonight. That is if they could tear themselves from whatever ritualistic mumbo-jumbo that they were so intent on engaging in right now.

Franken made a wide turn, bringing it towards and nearly into the left side of the canyon wall before a quick push from the thrusters forced the mech into the air and then up onto the side of the canyon wall. A bit of effort from Franken’s foot-treads and from the rest of the thrusters pushed Axton’s War Suit higher up the wall, but another heavy push from the propulsion system launched the multi-ton machine off the side and into the air.

One of the Gnolls wasn’t as involved in their ritual as the others were, and it noticed that its foe was not coming from the front. The roar of the war machine’s engines and the grinding of stone against tank treads drew its gaze up and to the side, and its eyes went wide with shock and horror as Franken’s foot came down on its face.

The crushing of one of the participants of their ritual caused the rest to cease their inane fuckery. They paused for a second or two as they realized that the powers they thought existed had not led their foe to its death, but by the time they had begun to react to what was happening Franken had already shanked to death around 3/4ths of their number. The rest, though, didn’t run, instead trying desperately to do some damage to the metal monster that had just ended so many of them.

Of course, they were not able to deal much damage. Despite being larger and more well-defined than the native fauna had been, their stat block was apparently only that of something around 85% physically stronger than an average Human NPC in-game.

Given that most Human NPCs in-game had cybernetic or biological augmentations, most Human NPCs could easily out punch a middle-weight boxer. These things, though, were much, much stronger. If they had used their scrap-metal weapons to hit Franken, they would have at least left minor cuts in its armor, if not more.

That was, to say, if they managed to deal a hit, of course.

Franken was, to put it mildly, fast as fuck, and its maneuverability was nothing to sneeze at, either. Given that it was a match between a single metal man armed with metal knives the size of swords piloted by a Player and a bunch of scared and drugged-up Gnoll tribals with scrap-metal weapons, the outcome should be obvious.

Franken suffered a few knicks and scratches by the end, but the fight ended in less than 30 seconds, leaving Axton as the only survivor once again. Rather than dive directly into the next fight, though, Axton took a few moments out of his hunt to examine the things that had been nearly used against him.

“These are.. pieces of some War Suits… Looks like they were pounded into shape by… fists? Fucking hell… what the hell was I sent to kill?”

Axton looked deeper into the canyon and gulped. Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy of a boss fight as he had thought….

…

“Weaklings.” He snarled as he crushed the skull of a smaller Gnoll under his foot. “It seems this is a tribe of cowards and weaklings. None are worthy of joining my tribe! Kill them all, but leave the females alive and as unharmed as possible! I will divvy them up among us once the Invader is dealt with and after I have had the privilege of the first taste.”

He took another step, sniffing the air and letting the smell of burning meat and hide fill his mind. This was what he was born for. What he lived to do. He would impart this lust for combat in the survivors, in his tribe, and once the sky had been breached the wrath of his people would scour the Invaders from the land of the Gods.

“Now, someone bring me a-.”

He was cut off as a blade sank into his back.

“YAAAAAAAAAAGH!” he screamed, not out of pain, but out of anger and surprise.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance, monster!”

Another blade shoved its way through his fur, and he slammed his back up against a cliffside to dislodge the attacker. Growling and snarling, he whipped around, only for a mix of rage, shock, and utter disbelief at what he was seeing to send his mind reeling.

“But… How?! A runt.. a whelp… What..?!”

Standing up despite being in extreme pain, the smaller, scrawnier Gnoll grinned as he spat out some blood. The smaller one lifted up a flap of skin that it had pulled from the Bloodmaw Tribe’s leader’s back and tossed it on the ground.

“Looks like I was right to doubt the validity of your claim to being the emissary of the Gods. No true servant of them, whether they exist or not, would have that under their skin.”

“What are you rambling about, you madman?!” the larger one snarled, but he was struck again from behind.

“False Prophet!”

“Liar!”

“Deceiver!”

“Monster!”

“Hidden Invader!”

The larger Gnoll swatter away the encroaching foes that had once served him unquestioningly.

“What is going on?!” He snarled in confusion.

He couldn’t see that under his hide were the same cybernetics that had corrupted the fauna, nor could he see the exposed tag attached to his exposed cybernetic spine fluttering in the breeze that read [Infiltrator v5.7 Final: Field Test Ver.].