Reever kept running, boots pounding over the fractured terrain, the echo of his steps mixing with the hum of distant machinery. The system's warning still rang in his head — find it before it finds you. The words weren't just a message anymore; they felt like a sentence hanging over him. Whatever it was, it decided the outcome. Victory or death. Nothing in between.
But how do you hunt something you can't see? How do you chase what's already waiting for you?
He moved through a narrow corridor of broken walls, the gray light of the graveyard casting long, twisted shadows around him. The further he went, the quieter it became, until the silence itself felt heavy, pressing against his mind. He scanned every corner, every flicker of light, but found nothing. Then, a faint tremor rolled through the ground beneath his feet, slow, deliberate, like footsteps made of metal and weight.
He stopped, raising his rifle. The vibration grew stronger.
When the first shape appeared through the dust, Reever instantly knew this fight would be different. The figures that emerged weren't the same as before. They were larger ; some almost twice his height , their bodies bulked with reinforced armor and plated limbs. The old Zombots had moved like corrupted machines; these ones moved like war machines stitched together from the wreckage of legends.
Zombified hybrids broken Aim Bots and Tank Bots fused into one. The perfect mix of precision, strength, and defense.
The moment Reever saw them, his mind calculated odds he didn't want to see. These things weren't designed to chase; they were built to end.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, steadying his grip. "Round two."
The first one charged, its steps shaking the ground. Its upper body twisted unnaturally fast for its size, the barrel of an integrated cannon locking onto him. Reever dove aside as a beam of blue energy tore through where he'd stood, blasting a crater into the dirt. He rolled to his feet, fired three rounds at the creature's chest each one sparking harmlessly off its armor.
"Too thick," he hissed.
Another one opened fire, its machine gun arm whirring to life. Bullets rained in a steady rhythm. Reever ducked behind a half-collapsed slab of stone, the impacts echoing like thunder. Dust filled the air. He reloaded quickly, mind racing.
He couldn't overpower them , not directly. But if they were built from fragments of Aim Bots and Tank Bots, they had to be held together somehow. Every merge had a weakness.
He peeked out, scanning their structure through his scope. That's when he noticed it , the faint glint at the joints. The places where metal plates met. There were no smooth transitions there, only welded seams and connected servos.
"That's it," he breathed.
When the next one stepped forward, Reever aimed for the knee joint. One shot. Then another. Sparks burst out, the leg twitching violently before the whole structure collapsed, sending the Zombot crashing down. It tried to rise, but its limb was no longer responding ; the connection severed clean.
The others reacted instantly, adjusting their aim, firing together. Reever sprinted to the side, rolling behind a fallen turret. He fired again, this time at a shoulder joint. Another burst of sparks. The Zombot's arm hung loose, still attached but useless.
He moved fast, mind sharper than ever, instincts syncing with his reflexes. Each time they moved, he analyzed, memorized, adapted. He targeted weak points , elbows, knees, the base of the neck. His shots weren't random anymore; they were surgical, every bullet finding a joint, every strike dismantling a monster one piece at a time.
Still, the fight was far from easy. The ground shook constantly, gunfire roared around him, and heat from the energy blasts burned against his armor. Even if his body couldn't tire, his thoughts did. Every second of focus cost him something. Every choice between dodge and shot was another layer of pressure pressing on his mind.
At one point, two of them came from opposite sides. One fired its cannon, forcing him to dive away. The explosion threw him across the ground. His armor saved him, but his head rang, his vision swimming. He hit the ground hard, sliding across shattered metal. Before he could stand, the other Zombot was already there, towering over him, its heavy arm lifting like a hammer.
Reever rolled aside just in time, the blow slamming into the ground and splitting the concrete. He got to one knee, aimed at the exposed joint in the creature's shoulder, and fired three quick shots. The arm snapped free, collapsing beside it. The bot swung its other arm wildly, but Reever ducked low, firing again , this time at the torso seam. The connection broke, and the whole upper half of the bot came loose with a screech of tearing steel.
He didn't celebrate. He just moved, breathing slow, steady, every sense on alert. There were still three left.
The air was thick with smoke and debris now, glowing red from the sparks of ruptured energy cores. His visor flickered with warnings, but he ignored them. Focus was all that mattered.
One of the last Zombots roared — a mechanical screech that shook the air. It came charging, swinging its massive arm like a wrecking ball. Reever slid under it, planted a grenade at the joint of its back leg, and kicked off the ground. The explosion tore through the connection, sending the bot stumbling forward. Before it could recover, he emptied a full clip into its head joint. The metal cracked, lights flickered, and it finally went down.
The final two stood still for a moment, almost as if reassessing him. Then they advanced together.
Reever reloaded again, his hands moving automatically. His breathing had steadied into rhythm, but his thoughts felt heavier, slower. The fight wasn't just physical anymore , it was a test of control. He could feel the thing that was watching him, the presence behind the chaos, studying how he adapted, how far he could go before breaking.
"You want data?" he muttered, locking in the last magazine. "Then watch closely."
He waited for the first bot to raise its gun, then fired not at it, but at the other, catching the timing perfectly. The explosion from the second's core burst into the first, blowing them both backward in a wave of molten sparks. When the smoke cleared, the battlefield was silent again, littered with twisted parts and broken armor.
Reever stood still, gun raised, scanning for movement. Nothing.
Only the soft hum of the fallen machine systems and the faint sound of wind passing through metal remains.
He lowered his weapon slowly, feeling the fatigue settle in , not in his body, but in his mind. His hands were steady, but his head felt heavy, thoughts dull around the edges. The constant games, the unseen enemy pushing him through one test after another , it was wearing him down.
He glanced at the fallen Zombots, their parts scattered like broken puzzles. "You're getting creative," he said quietly, half to himself, half to whatever was listening. "But I'm still here."
And then, without another word, he moved on, deeper into the graveyard, toward the thing he still couldn't see, but knew was waiting.