Amira sprinted across the cracked asphalt, her sneakers kicking up dust and bits of rubble as she made a beeline for the rune-covered Mechanaut. Her hands clenched tightly around the grip of her metal bat, its battered surface slick with sweat and dirt. Her knuckles had gone white, her jaw set. Adrenaline surged through her bloodstream like fire. There was no time for fear—not when lives were on the line.

  The Mechanaut she charged was a lean, jagged monstrosity of metal and strange carvings. Runes pulsed faintly along its armor—sickly green and ghostly blue, flickering like lightning bugs trapped in dying glass. The machine stood twice the height of a grown man, spindly but deadly. Its humanoid shape was deceptive; it moved with uncanny speed and flexibility, and its limbs ended in brutal weaponry. Already, the construct had taken some damage—Evan’s shotgun blasts had dented its arm plating, and Marcus was hammering away at one of its legs with his hammer. Meanwhile, Rachel, thinking fast, was hurling anything she could get her hands on at the cockpit: bricks, twisted road signs, even someone’s mangled bicycle frame.

  She wasn't alone in that effort either. A half-dozen others had joined her, throwing rocks, rebar, and other debris at the Mechanaut’s head. Their aim wasn’t always accurate, but it was enough to keep the Gremlin pilot inside distracted—enough to give the others a chance.

  But Gremlins weren’t easily fooled.

  The construct suddenly paused its attack and its head snapped toward Amira. The glassy dome at its cockpit glinted in the flickering light, and behind it, the small green pilot leaned forward. Its eyes locked on her, lips curled back in a snarl of anticipation. A crackling sound filled the air. With a sharp motion, the Gremlin yanked back on a lever.

  The Mechanaut’s chain weapon—a thick, electrified length of steel links—snapped out like a whip, cutting through the air with a high-pitched whine. Blue sparks danced along its length. It came straight for her.

  Amira threw herself into a dive, the chain slicing the air inches above her. The heat and electricity in its wake were close enough to singe the hair on her arms. She rolled forward, sprang up, and closed the remaining distance in three fast strides. With a yell, she swung her bat in a wide arc and brought it down hard on the Mechanaut’s left knee joint.

  THUNK.

  The blow echoed like a gong. Sparks flew, and the construct staggered to one side, momentarily off-balance. But the Gremlin inside recovered quickly, yanking the chain back in and swinging it again in a tight, defensive loop, forcing Amira to backpedal before it could connect again.

  Elsewhere, the battle had grown even more chaotic.

  The second Mechanaut was a heavier, more brutal model. Its limbs were bulkier, its core plated with thick armor that looked scavenged and reforged. A pair of massive, serrated pincers extended from its arms, coated in dark oil and something less identifiable—something reddish and sticky.

  The first to stand in its way was the old man with the rifle.

  He looked out of place among the younger, more physically active fighters, but there was nothing uncertain about the way he moved. His stance was deliberate. He braced the butt of his rifle against his shoulder and squeezed off careful, measured shots. The bullets didn’t penetrate the thick armor of the construct, but they did one important thing—they cracked the glass dome shielding the Gremlin pilot inside.

  Each shot echoed like punctuation in the chaos around him.

  CRACK.

  A spiderweb of fractures spread across the Gremlin’s protective dome.

  CRACK.

  The pilot flinched and hissed, scrabbling to adjust its controls.

  He wasn’t fast, but he was precise. He reloaded without looking down, his movements practiced and economical. Every time the Mechanaut shifted, he shifted with it. Unshaken.

  “Keep pressure on that dome!” he called out, voice gruff but clear. “It’s close to giving!”

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  Lorcan was already in motion, approaching the same Mechanaut from a lower angle. He ducked behind a chunk of concrete, then sprinted out with his length of sharpened rebar. While the old man kept the Gremlin pinned down with fire, Lorcan slashed at one of the construct’s lower tubes, cutting it clean.

  With a hiss of escaping steam and hydraulic fluid, the line burst, spraying scalding vapor into the air. The Mechanaut staggered, its movements suddenly slower, choppier. From within the cockpit, the Gremlin pilot let out an earsplitting screech of frustration, banging on its controls.

  “Nice shot!” Lorcan called toward the old man. “You keep it guessing—I’ll do the carving!”

  The old man gave a slight nod and shifted his aim again.

  Rachel was still on the perimeter, coordinating those who weren't engaged directly. Her voice was steady, authoritative.

  "Aim for the weak spots!" she called. “Exposed pipes, joints, hoses—anything that looks like it shouldn't be there probably shouldn't. Go for that!”

  She punctuated her command by hurling another hunk of concrete. It struck the rune-covered Mechanaut in the cockpit again, causing the Gremlin pilot inside to duck reflexively, snarling in irritation.

  Evan, breathing heavily, reloaded his shotgun with practiced hands. He had already fired several rounds, and now he was down to his last few slug shells. When he raised the gun again, he fired at the same Mechanaut Amira was targeting. The slug hit true, slamming into one of its arms. The etched runes along its surface sparked erratically, flickering like dying embers.

  Inside the cockpit, the Gremlin’s face twisted in fury. One of its goggles cracked from the shock, and it fell forward against the controls, dazed. The construct shuddered, reeling.

  Marcus, seeing the opening, tried to sneak around behind the Mechanaut to land a disabling blow. He had the element of surprise for all of two seconds before the Gremlin pilot recovered and whipped the chain around in a defensive arc. It swung straight at his head. Marcus barely managed to throw himself sideways, hitting the ground hard and losing his breath. He gasped for air, the world tilting around him, as the Mechanaut loomed overhead.

  Then—BOOM.

  Another shotgun blast rang out. Evan had fired again, this time aiming lower and using a shot shell. The scattershot tore into the Mechanaut’s leg. It staggered, momentarily losing its balance.

  Amira didn’t hesitate. Ignoring the numb, burning pain in her arm from earlier, she sprinted forward again. Her bat rose overhead, and she brought it down with all her strength on the cockpit's already-damaged glass. This time, the shield cracked wide open. Fractures spread like spiderwebs, and with a final, sickening crunch, the transparent dome shattered inward.

  The Gremlin inside screamed in panic as shards rained down on its controls, slashing into its skin. It flailed, trying to keep control of the now-flailing machine.

  Suddenly, someone else joined the fray—a dark-haired man who’d picked up a discarded chain weapon. Possibly Victor’s. His face was grim, his jaw clenched. With a grunt, he swung the chain in a circle before hurling it toward the Mechanaut’s legs. It wrapped around one of the limbs, and with surprising strength, he yanked hard. Clearly, he had invested heavily in MIght and probably had a fairly high Might stat to begin with.

  The Mechanaut tilted, then crashed to the ground, its own weight and damaged systems too much for its legs to handle. Sparks erupted as it slammed down, and its electrified chain weapon fizzled out, the current dying with a hiss.

  The Gremlin pilot, sensing defeat, tried to crawl free from the broken cockpit. It was small and fast—but not fast enough. A final blast from Evan’s shotgun tore through its frail body, splattering the inside of the cockpit in greenish gore. The creature twitched once, then fell limp.

  Despite their victory, the battlefield had fallen into an eerie silence. That was when they heard it.

  A low, rumbling crunch echoed from the shadows at the edge of the ruined plaza. Then another. And another. Something heavy was approaching.

  It was then that the figure in the shadows finally stepped forth. The new Gremlin was a nightmare made flesh. It stood over six feet tall, its gnarled, spiked mace resting heavily in one clawed hand, the weapon radiating dark energy that crackled and hissed. The creature’s body was a grotesque mockery of humanoid form, its sinewy muscles bulging beneath a warped, leathery hide.

  Its face was the most horrifying of all. Glowing, malevolent eyes burned like molten gold, set deep within a gaunt, angular skull that seemed perpetually locked in a predatory grin. The jagged teeth—too many to count—gleamed as it tilted its head, the motion both curious and contemptuous as it gazed at the survivors who were not fighting.

  Around it, the air seemed to shimmer and warp, as though reality itself recoiled from the creature’s presence. Each step it took was accompanied by an audible crunch, as if the ground beneath it couldn’t bear its weight. A faint, acrid smell hung in the air, a mix of sulfur and decay.

  “Well, this was rather entertaining” it said in a surprisingly smooth voice “But now it is time to bring this farce to an end.”

  [Gremlin, Orgach Curselord – Minor Fae]