Meanwhile, three black armors advanced from cover to cover, moving in tight formation behind Donner and Vixen.
Measured.
Silent.
Professional.
"Take out the one with the shield," the squad leader ordered through the comm.
"Roger," came the reply.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The shells struck precisely at Donner's exposed joints.
His heavy armor jerked violently.
Hydraulics ruptured.
He staggered backward—then toppled.
The ground shook as he hit it.
Immobilized.
"FUCK! DONNER!" Vixen roared.
He swung his heavy cannon toward Donner's attacker and fired immediately.
Boom—KABOOOM!
He missed.
The enemy squad leader had already ducked behind the warehouse wall.
Boom. Boom.
The other two black armors maintained suppressive fire on Vixen, forcing him to reposition.
Every impact dragged his focus away from the enemy squad leader.
Which was exactly the point.
The squad leader leaned out from behind the warehouse corner.
Calm.
Controlled breathing.
Targeting reticle narrowing over Vixen's exposed shoulder joint.
The squad leader adjusted his aim carefully.
Then—
HUUUUUMMMMM.
A deep mechanical resonance vibrated from inside the warehouse.
"…Huh?"
CRASH!
Suddenly a razor-sharp black metal lance erupted through the warehouse wall.
It punched clean through the squad leader's front plating, through armor, through torso in one brutal motion.
"GAH—!"
The lance lifted him several meters off the ground, suspended like a pinned insect.
Steam vented from ruptured pipes.
Then the weapon retracted just as suddenly.
The lifeless black armor collapsed to the dirt with a heavy thud.
CRAAAAASH!
The warehouse wall then exploded outward.
A colossal red steam armor burst through as if the structure had been made of cardboard.
In its hand—an enormous black lance glowing at the tip.
The battlefield stilled.
Even incoming fire faltered for half a second.
"Director! Oh thank goodness—you brought Rudolph!" Vixen shouted.
Inside the towering armor, Cinderclaws' voice boomed through external speakers.
"HOHOHO! These bastards sure made a mess of my Moth Pole!"
The giant machine turned its glowing visor toward the invaders in front of Vixen.
"You've all been very bad boys," Cinderclaws growled. "Time for Rudolph to give you some coal!"
He leveled the massive lance forward.
Stamped clearly along its side:
Combustion Optic Amplification Lance.
C.O.A.L.
Gears began spinning along the shaft.
Steam vented in violent bursts.
The lance tip glowed brighter—red shifting toward white.
"And if you ever saw it," Cinderclaws added, voice thick with battle glee, "you'd even say it glows, motherfucker."
He pulled the trigger.
ZAP ZAP ZAP—
KABOOM! KABOOM! KABOOM!
Rapid explosive beams tore across the field in controlled bursts, ripping through two enemy armors and detonating them where they stood.
"HELL YEAH!" Vixen howled.
Rudolph took a heavy step forward.
Then another.
Each stomp shook the ground as the massive red armor advanced aggressively into the battlefield.
---
Bashington DC, Pentagon
Inside the Pentagon war room, Stan stood before a wall of satellite feeds from Moth Pole. Explosions flashed across the giant screen.
An officer approached briskly.
"Sir. Call from the Foreign Ministry."
Stan didn't look away from the screens.
"…Put it through."
He picked up the secure line.
"This is Satan speaking."
"Mr. Minister. Acting Foreign Minister Hannya here," came the smooth reply. "You need to call off your drones."
Stan finally turned away from the monitors.
"What? Why?"
"The Dwargonian Ministry has reported unidentified flying aircraft trespassing into their airspace," Hannya said. "They recognized them immediately as ours. Apparently the resemblance is unmistakable."
Stan blinked.
"How? They're flying at fifteen thousand meters!"
A short pause.
"Apparently," Hannya replied, "that's not high enough. You should have used F-16s."
"It's too far for the F-16s!" Stan snapped.
"Regardless," Hannya continued, unmoved, "Dwargonia has issued an ultimatum. If we do not withdraw immediately, they will treat it as an act of war."
Stan's jaw tightened.
"But what about Levi!?"
"My request is clear," Hannya said. "The Black House has already approved it."
Stan's expression darkened.
"…Tch. Fine. I'll call them off. But… why do you sound happy, Hannya—?"
CLICK.
Tuut… tuut… tuut…
The line went dead.
Stan stared at the receiver for a long moment.
Then exhaled sharply.
"…Tell General Fujin to recall the drones."
"Yes, sir."
---
Moth Pole, Underground Tunnel
"Keeekekekeke!"
Far below the battlefield, the cursed pickaxe giggled again as a fresh spray of dirt splattered directly across Grand Marshal Dwordoug Axebreaker's face.
Every time he swung it, the pickaxe subtly twisted mid-motion, just enough to redirect soil and pebbles straight upward.
Into his eyes.
His beard.
His mouth.
"Bleh! Pthh! SPIT!" Dwordoug coughed as dirt entered his mouth again.
"Keeee!" the pickaxe chirped in delight.
"ARRGH, YOU DIABOLICAL TOOL!"
Dwordoug slammed the pickaxe headfirst into the ground.
Then stomped on it furiously.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
He attempted to crush it beneath his heavy boots.
The pickaxe tilted slightly.
"Kee?"
Unfortunately for him, it was forged from solid enchanted steel.
"OUCH!"
Physics won.
Dwordoug immediately hopped backward, clutching his injured foot.
The pickaxe vibrating with pure laughter.
"Keeekekekeke!"
Levi observed the scene with mild fascination.
"Kukuku… Don't items with souls usually resemble their conjurer?" he teased lightly.
Mara crossed his arms, cheeks faintly red.
"…As I've said," he muttered, embarrassed, "I made that during my… juvenile phase."
A pause.
"A past I am not proud of."
Boom. Boom. Boom…
Muffled explosions rumbled faintly from above, shaking loose small trickles of dust from the tunnel ceiling.
"But," Levi noted thoughtfully, glancing at the length of tunnel behind them, "it did get us this close to the surface."
"Aye," Dwordoug grumbled, reluctantly picking the pickaxe back up. "If not for this abomination, we'd have been topside half an hour ago."
"Keeekee?" the pickaxe chirped innocently.
"I should get back to dig—"
CRAAAAAASH!
Suddenly a colossal red mechanical foot suddenly punched straight through the tunnel ceiling.
Pipes shattered instantly.
Water burst through ruptured lines, flooding the tunnel in seconds.
"Oh my," Levi murmured.
"WHO THE FUCK MADE A HOLE HERE!?" a thunderous, distorted voice boomed from above.
The foot shifted, grinding against stone.
Then retracted violently, dragging rubble upward as it withdrew.
The tunnel partially collapsed again.
Water continued gushing everywhere.
Then—
"Ha… hahaha…"
Dwordoug began trembling.
"HAHAHAHA!!"
He scrambled toward the freshly collapsed section, frantically touching the newly softened earth with renewed vigor.
"The soil's loosened!" he shouted in manic triumph. "I can dig through this in no time!"
He lifted the cursed pickaxe high.
"I CAN BE FREE OF THIS PICKAXE!"
"Kee! Kee!!!" the pickaxe cheered enthusiastically.
"Ah," Levi said, giving a polite clap. "It's good you've found motivation, Council Member."
---
Above Ground
The firefight escalated.
Smoke thickened across the ruins of Moth Pole as artillery and cannon fire overlapped in deafening rhythm. The Grinch Leader stood on elevated ground, watching the red giant armor carve burning lines across his advancing forces.
He made his decision.
All remaining units were committed.
Black steam armors advanced in coordinated waves, spider tanks repositioned for new angles, and infantry pressed forward behind suppressive barrages.
"What are they even doing here in this prison…" the Grinch Leader muttered under his breath. "Weaponizing old mining equipments like that…"
Below, despite mounting losses, the defenders were holding.
Three guard armors.
Two spider tanks.
One colossal red monstrosity called Rudolph.
Supported by scattered foot guards and even former prisoners firing scavenged rifles from broken cover.
It should not have been this stable.
"Grinch squad—on me," the Grinch Leader ordered into his comm.
"Yes, sir," multiple elite voices responded instantly.
The Grinch Leader and three black steam armors disengaged from their positions and moved to intercept. They slid down the rocky cliffside in controlled descents, thrusters venting steam as they aimed directly toward Rudolph.
---
Western Field
ZAP ZAP ZAP—
KABOOM. KABOOM. KABOOM. KABOOM!
"HOHOHOHO!"
Cinderclaws laughed inside the cockpit as COAL beams tore across the battlefield, pinning one enemy armor under continuous suppressive fire until it detonated.
Then his sensors flashed.
Incoming—fast.
Four new hostiles.
"You brats want presents too?" he barked, pivoting Rudolph's torso toward the approaching black armors.
ZAP ZAP ZAP—
KABOOM. KABOOM. KABOOM!
But the incoming squad did not scatter like the others.
They split.
Four separate vectors.
Heavy cannons in hand, yet moving with alarming speed—boosters firing in short bursts, using debris as stepping platforms, closing distance while avoiding predictable patterns.
"Tch," Cinderclaws growled. "Naughty kids are always fast."
He locked onto one target and fired.
Kaboom!
The shell missed as the Grinch sidestepped with precise timing.
Boom!
A retaliatory shell slammed into Rudolph's left flank.
Warning indicators flared inside the cockpit.
Cinderclaws pivoted to return fire—
Kaboom!
Another shell struck from behind.
The Grinches had already completed their encirclement.
They fired in staggered intervals, each timing their shots so Rudolph could not fully brace in any one direction.
A rotating storm of impact.
Cinderclaws gritted his teeth.
He adjusted.
Retired elite did not mean retired instincts.
Instead of spinning in place, he chose one.
Just one.
Rudolph lunged forward aggressively, ignoring crossfire to close distance.
Boom!
Another shell struck his side plating.
He did not turn.
He kept advancing.
Locked.
Committed.
ZAP ZAP ZAP—
KABOOM!
One Grinch armor took the beam head-on. Its chest plate vaporized. The machine exploded outward in a burst of flame and debris.
One down.
Boom. Boom!
The remaining Grinches tightened their rotation, firing again.
One shell collided directly with Rudolph's lance mid-charge.
Metal shrieked.
The COAL emitter sparked violently.
Inside the cockpit—
"Tch—!"
Cinderclaws saw the damage indicator spike.
The nearest Grinch relaxed just slightly.
Believing the weapon disabled.
That moment was fatal.
Cinderclaws yanked the control levers sharply.
Rudolph shifted stance with surprising speed for its size.
With one arm, it lifted the massive, partially damaged lance overhead—
And hurled it like a javelin.
CRASH!
The spinning weapon pierced straight through the Grinch armor's torso, impaling it cleanly and slamming it into the ground.
Steam burst from ruptured valves.
The machine twitched once.
Then stilled.
Two down.
Two remaining.
Boom. Boom.
Two shells slammed into Rudolph's back in quick succession.
Inside the cockpit, warning lights flared violently.
Rudolph's left arm hydraulics ruptured.
Pressure dropped to zero.
The massive limb went slack.
Cinderclaws didn't hesitate.
He rerouted power, locked the useless arm in place, and kept advancing toward the nearest remaining Grinch.
Boom.
Another shot landed.
This one struck higher.
Armor plating around the cockpit cracked open, metal splitting apart and peeling back, exposing Cinderclaws inside the control bay.
Wind and smoke rushed in.
He did not flinch.
Instead, he pushed the throttle forward.
Rudolph accelerated.
Then leapt.
The ground cratered beneath its landing.
SLAM!
Its right fist crushed down onto the third Grinch armor.
SLAM!
Again.
SLAM!
And again.
The black armor buckled under repeated impacts, frame collapsing inward until it lay flattened and unmoving.
Three down.
CLICK.
A cannon barrel pressed into view from the side.
Point blank.
Its the Grinch Leader.
He had maneuvered through the chaos unnoticed, positioning himself beside Rudolph's exposed cockpit.
The barrel aimed directly at Cinderclaws.
At this distance, there was no evasion.
No armor left to absorb it.
The Grinch Leader about to fired.
Then—
SPLAAAAASSSH!
A violent geyser of water erupted between them.
The sudden blast of pressurized water struck both machines, distorting visibility for half a second.
The Grinch Leader flinched instinctively.
Boom!
He fired through the water—
Too late. Rudolph was no longer there.
Rudolph had already repositioned.
The red giant now stood at his flank.
Its massive right fist raised high.
"Merry kiss my ass, you punk!" Cinderclaws roared.
SLAM!
The punch crushed into the Grinch Leader's armor.
SLAM!
Metal folded.
SLAM!
The cockpit imploded.
SLAM!
The machine collapsed into a mangled heap of twisted steel.
Blood spilled onto the dirt beneath the wreckage.
Silence began spreading across the battlefield.
Cinderclaws exhaled heavily inside the broken cockpit.
"Sigh… that was too close."
He glanced at the soaked battlefield around him.
"But where did that water come from—?"
Behind the shattered earth, he saw movement.
A dwarf clawed his way up from a collapsed tunnel, drenched in muddy water and caked in filth.
Grand Marshal Dwordoug Axebreaker burst fully from the ground like a reborn creature.
He ripped off his soaked, dirt-covered outer garments and threw them aside.
Then raised both arms to the sky, letting water cascade over him like a blessing.
"I'M FREE! HAHAHAHAHA!"
His laughter echoed across the battlefield.
"Kee! Kee!" chirped the pickaxe excitedly next to him.
Nearby, Mara blinked at the scene.
"…Huh. Looks like Shawshank grew fond of him."
Levi tilted his head slightly.
"Shawshank?"
"The pickaxe's name," Mara replied casually.
"Ah," Levi said.