The battlefield was chaos incarnate, strewn with smoke and debris from the two destroyed Mechanauts. The final construct stood tall and menacing, its serrated pincers snapping rhythmically, the sound sharp and metallic. Its movements were disturbingly fluid for something so large, and the glint of its polished armor reflected the fires that burned in the distance. Inside the cockpit, the Gremlin pilot sneered at the humans below, its glowing yellow eyes full of malice.

  “Come on, you pitiful wretches!” the Gremlin shrieked through its external speakers. “You’ll die like the rest!”

  Amira’s grip tightened around her bloodstained bat. Her muscles burned from the last fight, but her rage burned hotter. “We’ll see about that,” she muttered, stepping forward.

  Before Lorcan or Evan could reply, another voice cut through the tense air.

  “You’re going to need help with this one.”

  They turned to see a man approaching from the edge of the battlefield. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair disheveled and streaked with ash. A faded leather jacket hung loosely over his lean frame, and his gray eyes were sharp and focused. In his hands, he held Victor’s chain, its heavy links wrapped tightly around his fists.

  “I saw what it did to Victor,” the man said, his voice low but firm. “I’m not letting it happen to anyone else.”

  Amira hesitated, her jaw clenching. “Who are you?”

  “Call me Grant,” he said simply, flexing his hands as the chain rattled. “Now, are we doing this, or do you want to stand around talking until it kills us all?”

  Amira nodded curtly, her eyes hard. “Fine. But don’t get in my way.”

  Lorcan stepped between them, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. “We need to work together if we’re going to bring it down. Focus on the legs and joints. Evan, aim for the cockpit whenever you get a clear shot.”

  Evan nodded, his hands trembling as he loaded another shell into his shotgun. “Got it.”

  Grant cracked his knuckles, his grip on the chain tightening. “Let’s move.”

  The Mechanaut struck first, one of its massive pincers snapping toward Lorcan with deadly precision. He dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the serrated claw as it slammed into the ground, gouging deep trenches into the pavement.

  He scrambled to his feet only to find that had dropped the rebar he had been using as weapon.

  Amira darted to the left, her bat swinging in a wide arc toward the Mechanaut’s nearest leg. The wood struck with a resounding crack, denting the armor but not enough to slow the machine.

  Grant charged in from the right, the chain in his hands whipping through the air like a serpent. He swung it at the mech’s other leg, the heavy links wrapping around the joint. With a grunt, he yanked hard, pulling the limb slightly off balance.

  The Mechanaut staggered, its pincers flailing wildly as the Gremlin inside hissed in frustration. “Annoying little insects!” it screeched, slamming its fists against the controls.

  Evan took aim, his shotgun booming as the slug struck the cockpit’s reinforced glass. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface, but the mech kept moving, its pincers lashing out in retaliation.

  As the battle against the construct raged on, the others were left to contend with the Orgach Curselord. The creature dominated the field like a malevolent force of nature, its towering form radiating power that felt suffocating to the weary humans. Despite the overwhelming fear that clung to them like a shroud, a young woman named Marcy with fiery determination etched across her face gripped her makeshift spear—a broken pipe sharpened crudely at one end. Her knuckles were white against the rusted metal as she stepped forward, her resolve unshaken by the beast’s terrifying presence.

  The Curselord tilted its head, molten gold eyes narrowing in bemusement as it watched her approach. Its grotesque grin widened, revealing rows of jagged teeth.

  Undeterred, Marcy surged forward, her bare feet slapping against the cracked pavement. She had invested all her points into Grace and was seeing the benefits now as she ran at her opponent with speed she had never been capable of before. The pipe spear was poised to strike, its sharp tip glinting faintly in the dim light. Her breath came in short, controlled bursts, and every muscle in her body coiled as she prepared to lunge.

  When she was just within striking distance, the Curselord moved. Its spiked mace rose with an effortless grace, the dark energy coursing along its length casting eerie shadows on the ground. Marcy thrust the pipe forward, her aim true, but the creature sidestepped with inhuman speed. It was as if her attack moved in slow motion compared to the fluid, predatory elegance of its movements.

  “Be still, little flitting insect,” the Curselord intoned, its voice tinged with cruel amusement.

  It extended a clawed hand, and a shimmering wave of dark energy rippled outward from its palm. The arcane power struck Marcy squarely in the chest like a physical blow. Her body stiffened instantly, her limbs locking in place as if encased in invisible chains. The spear clattered from her rigid fingers, forgotten as she toppled backward to the ground. Her wide eyes darted frantically, her chest heaving in a futile attempt to escape the paralysis that gripped her.

  “Marcy!” a desperate voice cried out. Lisa, a blonde-haired woman with a pale, freckled face, bolted toward her fallen friend. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and she gripped a butter knife tightly in her trembling hand. The kitchen utensil looked pitifully small in her grasp, a meager defense against such a monstrous foe.

  The Curselord’s glowing eyes flicked toward her as she ran, unperturbed by her frantic movements. Its grin widened.

  With a flick of its wrist, the creature summoned another burst of the paralyzing curse. The energy leaped from its clawed hand like a living thing, striking Lisa mid-step. Her body froze instantly, the butter knife slipping from her grasp as she collapsed beside Marcy. Her face was a mask of horror, her unblinking eyes fixed on her friend, but she could do nothing. Her muscles refused to obey her, no matter how hard she fought against the magic’s cruel grip.

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  The Curselord let out a low, rumbling chuckle, a sound devoid of warmth. It stepped closer to the immobilized women, its twisted, sinewy frame towering over them. “How delightful,” it said, its voice dripping with mockery. “Two for the price of one.”

  The creature raised its mace high, the jagged weapon humming with dark energy. Marcy’s panicked breaths quickened as the weapon hovered above her, but she was powerless to move, to scream, to resist. It came down with brutal force, its wicked spikes tearing through her chest and pinning her to the ground. Blood spilled from her mouth in a thick, dark stream, her wide eyes dimming as life ebbed away. The pipe spear she had wielded so defiantly now lay forgotten in the dirt beside her lifeless body.

  Lisa’s paralyzed form trembled faintly as tears welled in her eyes. She was forced to watch, helpless, as the creature turned its smoldering gaze toward her next.

  A guttural roar shattered the stillness. “You monster!” Simon, a dark-skinned man with broad shoulders and a scar running across his jaw, charged forward, a crowbar clenched tightly in his fists. His steps were heavy, deliberate, fueled by a righteous fury that burned in his chest. He was Lisa’s husband and the sight of his wife lying there helplessly drove him into a frenzy

  The Curselord turned to face him, the predatory grin never leaving its grotesque face. “Such passion,” it said, almost lazily. “Let’s see how long it lasts.”

  As Simon closed the gap, the Curselord extended its free hand. Dark energy swirled around its clawed fingers, coalescing into a writhing tendril of black light. It whispered an incantation, the words dripping with malice, and the magic shot forth, striking Simon squarely in the chest.

  The impact drove him to his knees, the crowbar slipping from his grip and clattering to the ground. A terrible pain wracked his body, spreading from his chest to every nerve ending as though his very life was being drained from him. He groaned, clutching at his chest as his strength ebbed away.

  The Curselord inhaled deeply, its sinewy frame shimmering with renewed vigor. “Delicious,” it murmured, its voice tinged with dark satisfaction.

  Back at the battle with the last construct, the fight was growing increasingly desperate. The Mechanaut’s serrated pincers swept through the air with terrifying speed, their edges gleaming ominously under the flickering light of the streetlamps. Amira barely had time to react as one of the claws came hurtling toward her. She threw herself to the ground, her body slamming into the pavement with a bone-jarring impact. Rolling to the side, she narrowly avoided a second strike that gouged deep furrows into the asphalt, sending jagged chunks of debris flying into the air.

  “This thing’s faster than the others!” she yelled, her voice strained as she scrambled to her feet. Her bat, chipped and splintered from the relentless fight, felt heavy in her hands, but she gripped it tightly.

  Lorcan finally spotted his dropped weapon. He grabbed the jagged piece of rebar from the ground, gripping it tightly as he rushed the mech. He clenched it tightly in his bloodied hands, his knuckles white as he surged forward. His eyes were fixed on the Mechanaut’s already-damaged knee joint, a weak point they had been exploiting. He swung the rebar with all his strength, the metal screeching as it scraped against the construct’s armored leg.

  “Grant use the chain, pull it off balance!” Lorcan shouted, his voice raw from exertion.

  Grant nodded grimly. He hefted Victor’s chain, the heavy links rattling as he swung it in a wide arc. The metal whistled through the air, gleaming faintly as it wrapped around the Mechanaut’s other leg with a metallic clink. Planting his feet firmly, Grant pulled with every ounce of strength he could muster. His muscles bulged, veins standing out against his forearms as he strained to destabilize the hulking machine.

  “Now, Amira!” Lorcan called, his voice cutting through the chaos.

  Amira didn’t hesitate. She darted forward, her movements quick and precise despite the exhaustion that weighed her down. Her bat swung in a brutal arc, the wood connecting with the dented knee joint with a resounding crack. The force of the blow sent vibrations up her arms, but the effort paid off—the metal groaned under the impact, the joint bending further.

  Inside the cockpit, the Gremlin pilot let out a shrill, guttural howl of frustration. The creature’s clawed hands slammed against the controls, the movements erratic as sparks flew from damaged circuits. The Mechanaut lurched awkwardly, its pincers thrashing wildly in response. One claw swept toward Grant, its serrated edges glinting menacingly.

  “Look out!” Evan shouted, his voice breaking with panic.

  Grant ducked just in time, the claw whistling past his head by mere inches. He stumbled backward, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps as he struggled to regain his footing.

  “This thing isn’t going down easy!” he growled, sweat dripping down his face as he readjusted his grip on the chain.

  “We’ve got to keep at it!” Lorcan replied, his voice strained as he dodged another swipe from the pincers. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he charged again, the rebar poised like a spear. He jabbed it at the Mechanaut’s damaged leg, the sharp point driving into the joint with a force that made his arms ache.

  The construct wobbled under the assault, its balance faltering. With a loud, bone-jarring crack, the knee joint finally gave way, and the Mechanaut staggered, its leg collapsing beneath it. The hulking machine teetered precariously, its remaining leg straining to keep it upright.

  Amira didn’t let up. She darted forward once more, her bat swinging with all the force she could muster. The wood struck the remaining leg with a deafening thud, the joint buckling slightly under the repeated blows.

  “Evan, aim for the cockpit!” Amira shouted, her voice hoarse but filled with determination.

  Evan stood several paces away, his shotgun trembling in his hands as he tried to steady his aim. His palms were slick with sweat, and his heart pounded in his chest as he lined up the shot. Pulling the trigger, he felt the powerful recoil slam into his shoulder. The slug punched through the already-cracked glass of the cockpit, shattering it completely. The Gremlin pilot let out a furious screech, its sharp teeth bared in rage. Sparks erupted from the control panel as the construct’s movements grew increasingly erratic, its thrashing limbs threatening to take down anything in their path.

  The Gremlin wasn’t finished, though. With a guttural snarl, it slammed its claws against the controls one last time, sending the remaining pincer hurtling toward Lorcan.

  “Lorcan, look out!” Amira screamed, her voice tinged with panic.

  Lorcan tried to sidestep the strike, but the claw moved too fast. It caught his arm, the serrated edges tearing through his jacket and slicing into flesh. Pain exploded through him, a searing white-hot agony that made his vision blur. He stumbled back, clutching his bleeding arm as warm blood seeped between his fingers.

  “Lorcan!” Amira yelled, rushing toward him.

  “I’m fine,” he grunted, though his face was pale and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “Just keep going!”

  Grant, seeing Lorcan injured, let out a furious roar. He swung the chain with renewed ferocity, the heavy links slamming into the Mechanaut’s already-damaged leg. Marcus, sledgehammer in hand, ran forward and joined the assault, pounding on the limb for all he was worth. The metal groaned in protest, the joint splintering further under the relentless assault. Sparks flew from the construct’s battered frame, and its movements became increasingly sluggish.

  Then, Amira joined the attack, her bat striking the leg in rapid succession. The repeated blows echoed across the battlefield, the sound mingling with the Gremlin’s enraged shrieks. Finally, with a loud, ear-splitting screech of metal, the construct’s leg gave out completely. The Mechanaut collapsed to the ground, its hulking frame crashing into the pavement with a thunderous impact.

  The construct lay motionless, its legs twisted and broken. Sparks flickered weakly from its joints, and its once-menacing pincers twitched feebly. Inside the cockpit, the Gremlin pilot was slumped over the shattered control panel, a jagged metal fragment protruding from its chest.