Walking through the Canyon of Rust was like walking through the digestive tract of a mechanical beast that had eaten too much curry and then died of indigestion.
The air was thick enough to chew. It tasted of sulfur, burnt hair, and bad decisions. As the group descended the rickety metal walkways, the deafening symphony of industry began to die down.
It wasn't a disciplined silence. It was the confused silence of a thousand toddlers noticing a shiny object.
One by one, the Goblins stopped welding, hammering, and exploding things. They turned. Thousands of yellow eyes, protected by cracked goggles and welding masks worn at jaunty angles, stared at the intruders.
These weren't the scary monsters of legend. They were gremlins in aprons. They were covered in soot, oil, and unidentifiable goo. Most of them were missing eyebrows. Some were vibrating from caffeine or electrocution; it was hard to tell which.
They had seen Dragons. They had seen Vampires. They had seen Liches.
But they had never seen a guy in an Italian suit holding a leather briefcase.
The whispering started. It sounded like a thousand kettles boiling over at once.
"Is it a snack?" one Goblin whispered loudly, hanging upside down from a pipe.
"Too much fabric," another argued, hitting the first one with a wrench. "It's a shaved bear. Look at the pink skin. Disgusting."
"It's not a bear, you walnut," a third shrieked. "It's a tax collector! Run! Hide the shiny spoons!"
"I bet it explodes," a small goblin with a bucket on his head said confidently. "Everything explodes if you hit it hard enough."
"Hit it! Hit the pink thing!"
"No! Poke it first!"
Aris walked through the gauntlet of stupidity, his knuckles white as he gripped his briefcase. He could feel the collective IQ of the canyon lowering the closer he got to the bottom.
"Keep walking," Aris whispered to himself. "You are a CEO. You are a conqueror. You are not a shaved bear."
"They seem... spirited," Kaelen noted. He didn't have his hand on his sword. He looked like he was visiting a zoo where the cages had been left open by accident. He waved politely at a goblin who was trying to eat a rock. "Hello there, little citizen."
The goblin dropped the rock. "The Shiny Man spoke to me! I am the Chosen One!"
Garrick, floating ten feet in the air to avoid the crowd, was not annoyed. He was grinning. A wide, shark-like grin.
"Look at that one," Garrick laughed, pointing at a goblin who was currently welding his own foot to the floor. "He's an idiot. I love him. Hey, Boss! Can I juggle them? I bet I can keep five in the air before they realize they're flying."
"No juggling the locals, Garrick," Aris hissed.
"You're no fun," Garrick sighed, crossing his arms behind his head and drifting upside down. "They bounce. I can tell just by looking at them. They have excellent bounce potential."
Thal materialized out of the smog next to Aris. He said nothing.
He moved through the mob like a wraith, his cloak cutting through the smoke without disturbing it. He wasn't complaining about the chaos; he was dissecting it. His eyes, cold and dark, scanned every movement, every loose bolt, every potential threat with terrifying precision.
A goblin running with a pair of sharp scissors froze as Thal looked at him. The goblin didn't know why he was scared, but his survival instinct screamed at him to drop the scissors and play dead. Thal stepped over the trembling creature without breaking stride.
He was a shark swimming in a pool of goldfish. Silent. Menacing. Waiting.
They finally reached the center of the scrap-heap.
The Iron Fortress loomed above them. It was a masterpiece of garbage—a castle welded together from tractor tires, rusted boilers, and sheets of corrugated metal.
Sitting on a throne made entirely of exhaust pipes was Krakka.
The Warlord was massive. He was seven feet of green muscle, scars, and bad attitude. His left arm was a terrifying, steam-powered mechanical claw that hissed rhythmically.
He was currently trying to unscrew a lightbulb from his own throne armrest with his teeth.
He stopped as Aris approached. He spat the lightbulb out. It shattered on the floor.
"Halt!" Krakka roared.
The roar was impressive. The effect was ruined immediately by a goblin standing next to the throne who blew a party horn. Fweeeeet!
Krakka slapped the goblin off the dais without looking.
"You!" Krakka pointed his claw at Aris. "Pink thing. Small thing. Why you walk in Krakka's Forge? You want buy scrap? We have best scrap. Rusty scrap. Sharp scrap. Scrap that screams when you touch it."
Aris took a deep breath. This was it. The moment of truth.
He stepped forward. He channeled his inner business tycoon. He set his briefcase down on a flat rock with a dramatic motion.
Click. Click.
The sound of the latches opening echoed in the silence.
The reaction was instantaneous pandemonium.
"IT'S A BOMB!" a goblin screamed.
"HE'S GOT A BOX OF DOOM!"
"IT'S A SANDWICH BOX! ATTACK THE SANDWICH!"
Three goblins tackled each other. One started gnawing on his own leg in panic. Another threw a wrench at the sky for no reason.
"It is not a bomb!" Aris shouted, waving his hands. "It is a briefcase! It holds papers!"
"Papers?" Krakka squinted, leaning forward. The gears in his head turned audibly. "You... bring paper? To fight Krakka?"
The Warlord burst into laughter. It sounded like a diesel engine choking on a cat.
"Bwahahaha! Stupid pink man! Paper beats nothing! Rock beats scissors! Claw beats paper! Math is easy!"
The entire army laughed. Goblins were rolling on the floor. One laughed so hard he fell into a vent and disappeared with a fwoomp sound.
Aris stood there, his face burning. This was not going like the simulations.
"I am not here to fight!" Aris yelled over the noise. "I am here to make a deal!"
"Deal?" Krakka stopped laughing. He looked suspicious. "What is... deal? Is it food? Is it shiny?"
"It is an exchange," Aris said, trying to use small words. "I give you something. You give me something."
"I give you... punch in face," Krakka suggested helpfully. "You give me... your shoes. I like shoes. They look crunchy."
"No!" Aris rubbed his temples. He could feel a migraine starting behind his eyes. "Listen! I see your operation. It is... chaotic."
"Chaotic?" Krakka looked offended. "It is precision! Look!"
Krakka pointed to a group of goblins. "Hey! You! Show precision!"
The goblins panicked. One of them picked up a hammer and hit a tank of compressed gas.
HISSSSSSS!
The tank went flying like a missile. It ricocheted off three walls, decapitated a statue of Krakka, and spun wildly on the floor before exploding into a cloud of green smoke.
"Ta-da!" the goblin shouted, throwing his hands up.
"See?" Krakka beamed proudly. "Precision."
Kaelen brought a hand to his mouth to hide a cough. "Aris, I believe we are outmatched. Their stupidity is weaponized. It acts as a natural shield against logic."
"I can fix them," Aris muttered violently. "I can fix them."
He turned back to Krakka.
"Krakka! Listen to me! That tank? That was waste! That was money flying away! I can teach you to make tanks that go where you want them to go."
The Warlord paused. He scratched his chin with his mechanical claw, producing a shower of sparks that set his beard slightly on fire. He slapped it out.
"Go... where want?" Krakka asked. "Like... aim?"
"Yes! Aim!" Aris cried out. "Imagine. You pull a trigger. The boom goes thataway." He pointed at a pile of junk. "Not thisaway." He pointed at himself.
The goblins gasped.
"Sorcery," one whispered.
"Witchcraft," another agreed. "Burn the witch!"
"No burning!" Aris shouted. "Just... engineering! Math! Geometry!"
"Geometry?" Krakka recoiled like Aris had slapped him. "We do not use the G-word here! Shapes are for elves! We use feelings! We use guesswork! We use maybe it work, maybe we die!"
"And how is that working for you?" Aris asked, gesturing to the goblin who was currently on fire in the background.
Krakka looked at the burning goblin. The goblin gave a thumbs up before falling over.
"It... acceptable losses," Krakka grunted, though he looked less sure.
Aris saw his opening. He opened the briefcase. He didn't take out the blueprints. He took out a single, shiny, chrome ball bearing. A fidget toy he had in his pocket from Earth.
He held it up. It caught the light.
"You like shiny?" Aris asked.
Five thousand heads turned.
"Oooooooh," the army chorused.
"I have the Shiny City," Aris lied. "The City of Gears. The City where the bolts never rust and the grease never dries."
Krakka's eyes widened. "The... Big Shiny? The Forever-Clank?"
"Yes," Aris smiled, holding the ball bearing like a holy relic. "I know where it is. And I need... employees."
Suddenly, Krakka's expression changed.
The drooling, idiotic look vanished. His back straightened. His yellow eyes narrowed, losing their chaotic glaze and sharpening into something cold and terrifyingly intelligent. He didn't look like a warlord anymore; he looked like a Chief Engineer who had just found a critical error in a schematic.
"Hold," Krakka said. His voice was no longer a gravelly shout. It was deep, calm, and terrifyingly lucid.
He leaned forward, his mechanical claw ticking softly.
"You speak of the Ancient Capital," Krakka said, his grammar suddenly perfect. "The Solstice Engines. The Perpetual Motion Drives. But you forget the fundamental constraint of this continent, human."
Aris blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Mana," Krakka stated flatly. "The atmosphere here is inert. The Leylines are calcified. The Ancient Tech requires a Tier-5 Mana Density to even initialize the ignition sequence. You have the map? Irrelevant. You have the chassis? Useless. Without a mana source, the Big Shiny is just a very expensive paperweight."
Krakka looked at Aris. It wasn't a look of anger. It was a look of pure, professional disappointment.
"We don't need mana," Aris said quickly. "We'll use combustion. Steam. Hydraulics. Physics."
Krakka stared at him.
He stared for a long, painful ten seconds.
He looked at Aris like Aris had just suggested they could fly to the moon by flapping their arms really hard. It was a look of profound pity for Aris's intellect.
"You want to power a God-Engine..." Krakka said slowly, as if talking to a toddler, "...with hot water? And burning rocks?"
"Yes," Aris squeaked.
"You are..." Krakka searched for the word, tilting his head. "...very broken in the head. Do you have zero IQ? Or is it negative?"
Aris opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He had just been roasted on an engineering level by a goblin who, five minutes ago, was eating a lightbulb.
"He thinks you are an idiot, Aris," Kaelen noted helpfully from the back. "I believe that was a professional insult."
Krakka sighed, rubbing his forehead with his claw. The intelligence began to fade from his eyes, replaced once again by the chaotic glint of the Warlord.
"Whatever," Krakka grunted, slumping back into his throne. "You are stupid pink man. But... if you have map... maybe we strip it for parts. Maybe we make big boom anyway."
He eyed Aris suspiciously. "So. You want work. But why we work for you? We have freedom. We have explosions."
"I have dental," Aris interrupted, trying to recover his dignity.
Krakka froze. The intelligence was gone. The idiot was back.
"What... dental?"
"Teeth," Aris said. "Teeth stay in mouth. No rot. No falling out when you bite rock."
Krakka slowly ran his tongue over his remaining jagged yellow teeth. He looked at his army of toothless, gums-flapping minions.
"Teeth... stay?" Krakka whispered.
"Forever," Aris promised.
Valerius drifted forward from the back. She stared at Krakka's mouth with intense, predatory hunger.
"So many gaps," she whispered, her voice echoing unnaturally. "I can fill them. I can put... new things in there. Shark teeth? Glass shards? Or maybe... clean, white porcelain."
Krakka looked at the pale, floating woman. For the first time, the Warlord looked genuinely terrified.
"She... tooth witch?" Krakka asked Aris, pointing a trembling claw.
"She is the Head of HR," Aris said. "And she is very strict about cavities."
Krakka looked at Aris. He looked at the ball bearing. He looked at the scary Tooth Witch.
He made a decision.
"We take job!" Krakka roared. "We are Em-ploy-ees! We want shiny! We want teeth!"
"YAAAAAAAY!" the goblins screamed.
One goblin celebrated by punching himself in the face. Another ate his own hat.
"Welcome to the company," Aris sighed, closing his briefcase.
"Boss," Eve whispered, leaning down to Aris's ear. "Congratulations. You are now the CEO of a mental asylum."
"I know, Eve," Aris wept internally. "I know."