Both elf, plantoid, beastman, dwarf, human, and gnome alike looked on in abject horror and disgust at what had crawled its way up from what looked to be flaming portals to Hell itself. Though they were on Darksol’s side, the myriad species that were a part of Darksol’s current military (courtesy of having the multi-species nation of Arbiana join the fold) all felt a sickening sense of pure and utter evil as the meat and metal machines moved forward, churning up the terrain with their spiked treads.

As the hideous amalgamations of metal and meat surged forwards, their front plates opened as if they were large, mandible-like jaws, and from those mouths came an ear-piercing mix of a manic shriek and a savage, maddened, blood-thirsty roar. Mounted on top of these twisted treaded boxes were several different weapons. Some had smaller, fast-firing autocannons, while others sported larger, more powerful, yet slower traditional guns. A few even had secondary weapons that stuck out from either the turret or the sides of the construct, and as the things moved towards the ACT forces, the guns rapidly swung about as if they were the eyes of a crazed and starving beast searching for a quick fix for its ravenous hunger.

Eventually, each Flesh Tank locked on to its own targets and began to fire their guns. The rounds fired were not, in fact, solid slugs or even conventional ammunition, but instead, they were hyperdense bone or masses of darker, more sinister magic. The bone rounds easily tore through the plantoids, seemingly having been specifically designed to not merely punch through the hardened iron-like bark but also to both explode and tumble inside the plantoids, causing even more damage than usual. The smaller, faster blasts of magic, though, also caused some egregious damage.

Once hit by these blasts, the elves and smaller plantoids experienced no singular effect that was the same as any other. Rather, the effects seemed to be quite random, but always bad for those unfortunate enough to be struck. For some, lesions covered erupted on every part of their body. For others, their orifices began to rapidly hemorrhage blood, and yet others found parts of their body mutating into masses of tumors or decaying fast as necrosis not only set in but spread at an alarming rate.

But while these were indeed terrible fates, the worst fates belonged to those who either by luck or misfortune found themselves too close to the front of the Flesh Tanks. If they did indeed find themselves there, the maws of these monstrosities would open, and a few spiked chains covered in gore and blood would shoot out. These chains acted as though they were fully alive and intelligent, actively snaking through the air towards one target or another, either impaling them or wrapping around them. From that point, the chains would then retract, dragging the victim into the Flesh Tank’s maw to be visibly ground to a pulp before the mouth slammed shut.

The elves and plantoids loyal to the Great Tree had no response to this kind of thing. Their weapons barely did anything, if anything at all, and even when they managed to put an arrow or melee weapon into the semi-exposed meat and bone they would, at best, deal damage that lasted for maybe a few seconds. Their weapons were useless, their tactics were useless, their defenses were useless, and while the Darksolian military didn’t add anything to this new fight it might have been better for the ACT forces if they did.

The Flesh Tanks screamed and howled and roared with sadistic, malicious delight as they crushed men under their treads or blew them to bits or dragged them, kicking and screaming, into their waiting metal mouths, and nobody on either side could come up with any real ideas as to what to do next. Eventually, a single elderly Plantoid, one of the eldest Tree-men who had managed to survive the war up till this point, finally had an answer to what to do about all of this.

His answer was as simple as it was both utterly impractical and equally ineffective, and it was boiled down to a single command, spoken not with the tone of a seasoned commander but a person who has looked into the depths of Hell and knew what fate awaited him if he stood around and did nothing.

“RUN!”

This one command was more than enough to trigger a mass rout amongst the ACT forces, all of whom decided that being anywhere besides this place was better than being where they were right now. A few of them ran back towards the south, others ran north, some ran east and others went west, but it didn’t matter which direction they ran, because the Flesh Tanks did not intend to let any of them escape.

The next few minutes were pure pandemonium as elves and plantoids loyal to that arrogant, self-obsessed, idiotic, oversized tree with a god complex were massacred in their hundreds. Some tried to run towards the lines of Darksolian troops, likely hoping that they could surrender, but the undead quickly dashed those hopes with a few volleys from bow, crossbow, and gun alike.

These hopes were further dashed when the Flesh Tanks took a particular interest in going after those who ran towards Darksol’s lines, making mincemeat out of anyone stupid enough to hope for an opportunity to yield. From then on, the elves and plantoids were hunted down as if they were mere game pursued by sadistic and cruel hunters. These people were not put out with dignity, nor were they given the end that a decent hunter would give to his prey. This was a gore-soaked massacre more than a hunt, though the Flesh Tanks didn’t seem to notice the difference.

…

Eventually, the only noises left on the battlefield were the growling sounds coming from inside the Flesh Tanks and the occasional retching of an unlucky mortal soldier. With all enemies dead, the battle was over, and it was now time to rest. Right?

Well, the Flesh Tanks didn’t see it that way. After all, they were still ravenously hungry, and there were still so many bodies just lying around. If one could get inside the aberrant and unnatural mind of such abominations, perhaps it would be that they saw a bunch of chicken nuggets, or whatever quick food someone likes, just lying around. It would be an absolute waste to just leave them there, wouldn’t it? Especially when you were starving. Oh, yes. Constantly, ENDLESSLY starving.

There was so much meat just lying around, and so many useless and unneeded undead just getting up after their former fellows had met their end. Well, you know the saying, don’t you?

Waste not, want not.