There was a calm, quiet wind that passed through the small valley on the border between the Enian Federation and Artisan Confederate. It split when it met Grimsley's Goliath standing at the crest of the hill, surveying the base beneath its feet. There were enemy battlesuits wandering around it, shuffling from one building to another, carrying storage boxes or moving weapons and ammunitions. They seemed so slow, so relaxed. They had no idea what was coming towards them.
A bang pierced the air and a Goliath's head was blown clean off, the body left teetering for a moment before it fell to the ground. The rest of the Artisans panicked, scrambling for cover and taking wild shots into the air as they struggled to regroup. Grimsley lowered the smoking tank barrel strapped to his right wrist. His face inside the cockpit was dead and hard as diamond, unblinking after what had just happened.
"Ok, ok so we go in guns a blazin' like that I see," Ronald stated, half in shock at that sudden and vicious attack. "I guess that's a working strategy, right son?"
There was no answer. Not a verbal one. Instead, Grimsley's Goliath lurched upwards, jumping into the air and plummeting down towards the base. Grimsley landed in a run, sometimes having to slide a little on the slope of the hill because of his rapidly increasing momentum. The enemies had finally identified him as the source of the attack and had opened fire on him. As bullets came dangerously close or bounced off the armour of the war machine, Ronald became increasingly nervous behind Grimsley.
"You know this thing don't got the best o' the best shields on it and I'm-" Ronald had to pause as a particularly large explosion from a passing missile shook him in his seat. "I'm thinking we won't hold up very long if you don't-" Grimsley rolled to the side and Ronald's head went spinning with the motion, silencing him as the two slid down the hill.
The Goliath popped up again behind one of the small, makeshift buildings in the encampment. The simple concrete was being blasted away by the hail of shots coming from the Artisans, raining down chunks of rubble that clattered off Grimsley and Ronald. "We won't have to hold out very long Ronald," Grimsley said in an eerily calm voice. His heart had gone cold again, his body out of his control now. "Begin short range scans. I need you to be my eyes and take control of the cannon."
"Y-yes sir." Ronald decided it would be best to seal his mouth now and work doubly as hard on keeping them alive. "You have an enemy coming round the corner of the building, north side." Grimsley spun the Goliath around, bringing up the battle-axe in his left hand and swinging hard at the chest level of the average battlesuit. The weapon connected with the Artisan as it stepped out, driving deep into the metal on its front. As Grimsley tried to pull back, however, he found the axe had dug itself in deep and was actually dragging the enemy around now, an enemy who was working on levelling its gun at Grimsley.
"Ronald can you help remove this please?" The right wrist was brought up and unloaded another one of its deadly rounds straight into the Goliath's chest. Then another one. Then another. The Artisan spun off the axe and toppled to the ground. Ronald fired one more blast into the warmachine and it sprayed out little mechanical bits and parts, lying motionless otherwise. "I think that's enough Ronald. We don't have infinite shots here."
"Sorry I...I wanted to make sure. You know...in case..." Grimsley cut off Ronald with a sudden movement, thrusting the shaft of his axe backwards and straight into the gut of an approaching enemy. Grimsley then swept the axe around in a circle, slashing across the opponent's chest. There was a pregnant pause between the two fighters, the Artisan expecting to be finished off and Grimsley anticipating he would have done just that by now.
"Uh Ronald?"
"Yes Grimsley?"
"You were so trigger happy before, where did it go?"
"Oh right!" Ronald finally unloaded the requested round but it was too late. It flew harmlessly through the air, missing the Artisan who had lunged forward to tackle the two. Thankfully this enemy was not armed with a gun and hadn't had a chance to grab one otherwise it would have finished the pair off right then and there. Grimsley was forced to drop his battle-axe as he grappled with the attacker, needing both his hands freed for combat.
The pair tussled on the ground for a bit, neither able to gain an advantage over the other as a more powerful Goliath matched against a more experienced pilot who had actual training. The Artisan got a fist free for a moment, smashing it down across Grimsley's face and sending shudders throughout the body of the Goliath. Grimsley didn't pause to recover though, grabbing both his opponent's wrists and lifting from underneath, picking up the battlesuit and throwing it against the wall of the building. The flimsy concrete caved immediately and shattered before the whole building collapsed on top of the Artisan.
Grimsley didn't wait for more enemies to approach him. He scooped his discarded weapon up off the ground and leapt over the rubble of the fallen edifice. Bullets glanced off his armour as he came down from above, with Ronald finally taking action and firing the tank cannon at the remaining Artisans, sending them scattering for cover. One was not so lucky and had its hand clipped by a projectile as it tried to dodge out of the way. The force of the explosion sent it spinning off-balance and a vindictive Grimsley took the chance to decapitate the Goliath with a swipe of his axe.
"Give me a scan Ronald. Numbers count." The pilot was panting, exhausting a body that wasn't used to anything even close to this level of engagement and activity. "Five. There are five remaining. Four I mean." Grimsley had driven his axe into the back of another he had caught by surprise as he rolled around a building. "We might actually get outta here alive boy!"
There was a rumbling beneath their feet as Ronald finished the sentence, an ominous sign that seemed to occur only to prove the old man wrong. "Alright, maybe we won't then," he said, rescinding his comment in the hopes of reversing the bad luck he had just put out.
* * * * *
McCormack slowly wandered the battlefield around Narrius. His Exo-class battlesuit had been in his possession since he had first arrived in the force, and had been rebuilt and upgraded so many times that most couldn't recognize it anymore for what it was. In a blatant act of arrogance, the "Western Sun" had been modelled after McCormack himself, complete with a golden bandana around its neck and covering the lower half of its face. Unlike McCormack's piece of cloth though, the Western Sun's was actually made of pure gold. The armour crafted onto the Goliath's frame was placed and designed to make it look as though the warmachine was actually wearing the same clothes as its pilot. Anyone who saw this abomination walking around was usually rather ashamed and tried to disassociate themselves from being part of the same army of such a device.
The only weapons the general wielded were twin pistols that jostled along at either side of his Goliath's waist. Pistols was a bit misleading though as the type a Goliath could wield were roughly the same size as one of the battlesuit's forearms and packed quite a significant punch.
Accompanying McCormack was the Wordsmith General in her Goliath "The Jabberwocky;" named after an ancient text she had discovered in her studies. Her specialized Rhino-class suit sat silently on the grass, its bulky frame bare of the same garish adornments that McCormack had. Instead, it was inscribed with hundreds of different words and letters from an assortment of languages, scrambled all over the armour of the machine in random order. Thanks to the oversized nature of the Jabberwocky there was tons of space for the inscriptions and a person's eyes could get lost trying to find meaning in them.
"You're so boring Irina," McCormack expressed, not caring about feelings as usual.
"You're too active," came the slow, calm reply. It was like a trickle of water, each letter of every word barely making it out of her mouth and dripping unto McCormack's ears. "Sit and listen to the world."
"I liked you better when you were killing people," the general spat, turning on his heel away from Irina. The only response was a deep, long breath over the communication network. Indeed, Irina had once been a fierce warrior, coming from the northern lands like Ochenkov. She had picked her battlesuit after him, trying to follow in her hero's footsteps. But she had fallen out of love with slaughter, leaving it behind to study the world of books and language instead, becoming a sort of pacifist on the battlefield. As she explained, it was only a matter of time before this would happen: her name meant "peace."
Now she was deemed the best support Goliath they had in the Enian armies, channelling her chi into more beneficial roles rather than assaulting enemies, and she was known to guide the troops with strategies she gleaned from research. "Boring, boring, boring," McCormack complained again. "This is all boring. I want that Syn thing to show up again so I have something fun to fight. I have an itch Irina; do you know what it is?"
"On your gorgeous ass I assume." The bite was taken out from the soft response just in the way that Irina said it.
"Well that too." There was a pause on the communication network while some shuffling was heard and then a scratching sound. Finally, the gunslinger gave out a sigh. "No my real itch is an itch to show off Irina. Look at all these soldiers. Do you know what impresses them?"
"Actual skill?" Again Irina's wit and dry remark was lost in her sultry, sluggish voice.
"They're impressed by trickery! By flipping your gun and shooting someone at the same time. By spinning in circles and hitting your marks! They're young and impressionable and care only about looking really good. And I want to satisfy the masses."
"Perhaps you should be a movie star. This is a war I remind you. We are here to fight, to kill, to win, not to win awards."
"Well I am here to do both. You don't do either so you can't say anything can you?" McCormack didn't wait for the answer, moving too fast to even let Irina catch up. "Let's get this started. Let's have a fight. Let's win already." McCormack withdrew his pistols from their holsters and quickly began firing in all directions, leaping and skipping around, twirling and spinning in between different skirmishes between Exo-class Goliaths. He came out at the end with a double backflip and the smoking enemies he had hit fell like dominoes behind him, their bodies covered in bullet holes.
"See, that's how you impress, Irina. Sitting there and reading doesn't help anybody." Irina simply shook her head for an answer. The network became crowded with the chatter of soldiers marvelling at how great the general was, drowning out any more public conversing the two leaders could do.
There was a buzz that cut through the voices, a shrieking static that distorted the noise into something indistinguishable. McCormack clutched his ears and scrambled to turn the volume down in his cockpit. Irina was unfazed, quietly sitting on the ground still. The gunslinger envied her for a moment and her capacity to tune out the world surrounding. But then he remembered how awesome he thought he was and forgot all about her. Where was that noise coming from though?!
"Let the Jade Jester entertain us all!" The piercing female voice was now recognizable. McCormack had had to listen to it and study it over and over in preparing for this battle. It was the Rose Thorn General, returned. She darted in between Goliaths all along the war zone, sometimes lashing out at Enian battlesuits, sometimes completely ignoring them. Her movements were so random the Brass Bullet General couldn't get a lock on her.
The Artisan finally arrived in front of McCormack, drawn out by the violent display he had just put on. "Do you feel the touch of the Jester's laugh? Infectious, isn't it?"
"Woah crazy chick." McCormack threw his hands up in front of himself and slowly backed away, his battlesuit imitating him in perfect fashion, making it look like a fifty foot tall gunslinger was doing all of this instead of a machine. "Met these before, not going there again. Sure they're attractive at first, the excitement pulls you in but it's just bad news in the end."
The Enian general pulled his pistols back out, spinning them around his fingers to the amazement of any nearby pilots. In response the whip slid down out of the Rose Thorn General's wrist; the pink energy blade emerged from the other. Attempting to surprise McCormack, the Artisan pulled out one of her roses from behind her back, quickly throwing it at the Enian's face.
"No way lady," McCormack shouted over the static. His pistols were fast, his trigger faster, and the metal projectile was shot out of the air as it approached. "Like I said, I keep my distance from crazy chicks." The leader leapt up over The Rose Thorn General as she lashed her whip out. McCormack twisted his body so that he flipped forward, his Goliath's head now pointed downwards at the enemy beneath him. He held his pistols above his head unit and began to spin as he squeezed the triggers, unloading on the opponent. As the Artisan attempted to dodge and escape, McCormack adjusted his aim and the bullets followed suit, firing in every direction to keep up with the enemy commander.
The Western Sun landed perfectly on its feet, guns holstered as part of the spin. Behind it the enemy Artisan Goliath struggled to stay standing, its energy expended upon dodging so many ballistics, parts of its armour smouldering where it had been struck. Nothing critical had been hit, just edges and fringes and glancing blows, but it was damage nonetheless.
The thorn-laden whip wrapped itself around McCormack's wrist, tugging at him in an effort to throw his body off balance and get in a quick strike. Instead, McCormack pulled the whip himself, using a portion of his chi to increase his strength and send the Rose Thorn General careening into him. He caught her with his other arm, her slim Goliath easy for him to hold up. "Non, my beautiful rose, I shall not fall for your beautiful face," he said in a phony French accent, looking into the massive opal eyes of his adversary. "You are too cruel, too seductive for me to handle. My poor lover's soul could not handle it."
"Let the Jester toy with your soul," the general screeched, stabbing her energy blade at the gut of the Western Sun.
"Ah! You have killed me! I cannot believe it has come to this, my love, mon amor. Or ma amor? Me amor? I can't remember." McCormack looked down at where he had twisted and dodged the blade and he grabbed the enemy's wrist, throwing her to the ground at his feet. He took one of his feet and brought it down on the whip and the left wrist, pressing down and crushing it. He quickly withdrew one of his pistols and shot the other wrist and then the shoulder to prevent the arm from moving at all. Finally, he pointed the weapon at her head.
"Ah, it pains me so to do this but I must. I am sure you are a lovely girl but I am truly sorry to have to do this to you." The grip tightened on the trigger as McCormack prepared to finish off his foe.
"Wait!" Irina suddenly shouted, turning her head to look over at the Enian general. A shot rang throughout the air. There was a hole through McCormack's chest. He stood silently for a moment before falling backwards.
"I'm not sorry," a cold voice stated over the communication system.
* * * * *
The earth shook deeply, its core angry and enraged, lashing out with tremors and quakes that shot up to the forward base in the bottom of the valley. Cracks were forming along the ground, splitting and breaking into rifts, exhausting hot air that burst out into the atmosphere and steamed. Fissures were forming, rattling the makeshift concrete and metal buildings. They were beginning to crumble, their foundations giving out beneath them as the earth shifted, becoming malleable and rolling like water.
Then the collapse happened. The first of the buildings, a dome housing supplies, dropped down into the ground, sucked up into terra and leaving a gaping hole in its place. The Goliaths scrambled, panicking at the sudden change and the dangers of the splitting earth. One unlucky Artisan was swallowed whole by a gap that opened beneath its feet and it dropped down before it had a chance to grab on to an edge.
But sucking things up wasn't all the world was doing. Grimsley dodged a fissure, tumbling and crashing through the wall of the base's headquarters. Half of the building had already slid away and lay in a heap and now the remained was beginning to crumble with the new hole Grimsley had made. The pilot looked back at the split in the earth and was shocked to find a large hand grasping the edge of the dirt, as though someone had fallen in. The more Grimsley stared at the hand though, the less he understood. It was of similar size to a Goliath's hand, but somewhat human looking, with long, sharp fingernails that dug into the ground it clutched at. Mixed in with the hand were flecks of silver metal, and one finger seemed to be a hybrid of steel and sinew.
Curiosity overtook both Grimsley and Ronald and they urged one another to go get closer to this bizarre hand. As they approached the rumbling calmed, and the rents in the earth remained gaping open, with the singular hand sticking out of the one. As Grimsley approached, the fingers twitched and suddenly dug into the ground, hauling the body it was attached to upwards.
A dirty white head came up over the lip of the hole, its exposed top the colour of bleached bone. In fact, the whole thing appeared to really be of bone, a massive skeletal head the same proportion as a Goliath's. The face was the only part with skin loosely draped over it, with ugly purple veins that jutted out just under the surface of the skin and, in some spots, were exposed and throbbed with the beating of a heart. The disturbing visage smiled at Grimsley, its mouth filled with sharp, metallic teeth and a long tongue rolled out of its mouth and hung out the side. The rest of the body began to be hauled out from beneath the surface of the earth. The chest and shoulders were an open ribcage, mixing muscle and flaps of skin with steel and metal. Within this nightmare conglomeration was a red, glowing sphere, suspended in the chest cavity by lengths of muscle and countless veins and arteries. It pulsed and beat like a very living heart, regardless of the fused alloys in its tissues.
The other arm rose up, the clawed hand reaching out and digging into the ground closer to Grimsley, who leapt back in shock as this creepy thing pulled the rest of its body out. The skeleton-human-machine hybrid stretched as it rose to a full height that equalled any other Goliath. Its barren muscle on its legs and arms dripped with orange fluids that splashed onto the ground beneath it; only some was held back by a patch of skin. Metal rods ran along the joints to stabilize the limbs and the feet seemed to be entirely mechanical, with very little biological components on it. The eyes were what scared Grimsley and Ronald the most though. They were quite normal and human looking, moving around to take in every possible sight they could, and were nothing like the lenses placed on Goliaths.
The monster stood still for a moment and tilted back its head, the flat where its nose would be seeming to suck in the air and take a sniff of it. Then its focus snapped back to Grimsley. Behind it, another one was rising up, and another was almost out of the other side. All around the base the fissures were becoming escape routes for these creatures. Around their feet were smaller, more human sized beings running out, but they were often quite deformed and mutated and Grimsley recognized them almost immediately: they were just like Major Orellia. They were the Jahari.
The forms were not all similar to the fallen Major. Some had different mutated body parts that were blown up in weird proportions; others had completely new parts like claws for hands and prehensile tails. Some shambled, dragging behind their limbs, while others sprinted at superhuman speeds. They dodged in between the feet of the living Goliaths that were rising up all around the valley, slaughtering any soldiers in the base they could find as shots rang out.
First blood between battlesuits was drawn when one of the Jahari-Goliaths leaped onto the closest Artisan it could find, violently and furiously slashing at the chest with its claws, tearing through the armour plating until it exposed the cockpit and drove its wicked talons into the centre of the machine. There was a splash of red from the pilot within that mingled with the hydraulic fluids and oils streaming from the battlesuit, and the Jahari withdrew from its victim with a sinister grin on its skeletal face.
Grimsley didn't have to wait long before the Goliath in front of him made its move, lunging forward with claws out. The cannon fired in response, Ronald controlling it reactively. The massive shell ripped through the Jahari's shoulder, shearing the arm off at the joint and leaving it squirming on the ground like a worm. Orange blood and black oil sprang from the exposed wound and the monster reeled back from the blow. Grimsley pounced on the opportunity, swinging the axe around and cleaving his opponent's head in half, slicing the top of it off and leaving the remains of a pulsing, grey-ish blob of brain matter with metal tubing and different hybrid parts.
It was a disgusting sight and both pilots had to hold the contents of their stomachs down. The enemy stood still though, the blood congealing around its arm as fresh orange liquid dripped down from the top of the skull. It was dead though. The eyes had lost their light and the red orb was slowing to a stop. It just wasn't falling over.
Grimsley twisted and smashed the handle of his weapon into the gut of another of the beasts that was trying to get him from behind. As it stumbled back, something glimmered in the sunlight, flashing and piercing through the chest of the Jahari. This shiny, metal thing wrapped itself around the exterior of the monster, weaving in between the skeleton ribcage and tearing through muscles and steel. It then removed itself suddenly, sending the Jahari spinning until it toppled to the ground, slain.
The deadly metal shimmered as it snapped back to its source. Grimsley's Goliath analyzed it as it flew by until the computer finally recognized the object for what it was: pieces of a sword. The blade reconnected in the hands of an Artisan Goliath, a large, imposing machine painted in a royal purple with a plumed head unit that jutted up into the air. Upon its shoulders was a long cape that trailed behind it, a lighter purple adorned with golden weaves and hemmed with feathers and furs along the edges. This regal figure wielded an extremely rare whip-sword, a weapon that could break apart into sharp pieces connected by a pliable metallic thread before coming back to the hilt.
The eyes of this mysterious machine turned to observe Grimsley in his motley Goliath. They seemed to judge his appearance and, if a battlesuit could snort in derision, would have done just that at that moment. "Who are you then?" came the booming, powerful voice of the pilot inside.
There was silence in response. Ronald and Grimsley were bickering in the cockpit over who should answer and if they should reveal that they were from the Enian Federation. Would an Artisan still kill them in this situation with Jahari all around? "Well go on son! Tell him!" Ronald gave Grimsley a shove in the back for "encouragement."
"Hurry and explain yourself, we do not have much time here with the Bahari around us!" the Artisan yelled.
"Uh...uhm...we...I am P-private..." Grimsley stopped himself as he remembered he had been stripped of his rank in the military. What exactly was he now anyways? "I am Grimsley."
"Grimsley?" The voice replied. "Grimsley of what? What rank? You belong to the Enian Federation do you not?"
"I..."
"Well go on tell him!" Ronald kicked the back of the seat like a little child. To tell or not. Was Grimsley even part of the Enian Federation anymore or just someone from Easley? Did being a rogue meant he belonged to nobody?
"Just Grimsley." The youth's voice picked up more confidence as he worked out his story in his head. "And what is a Bahari? Don't you mean Jahari?"
"No I mean these!" The Artisan's sword broke apart again, lashing out towards one of the approaching skeleton creatures and wrapping around its arm. The two committed to a tug of war momentarily before the Artisan finally pulled the monster over the edge of a fissure, sending it back down the hole while the blade snapped back to its place. "You are probably not well-versed in the history of the world I would think. The Jahari have created these things, these Bahari we call them, or biologically enhanced Jahari. Bahari. Careful with them."
"So they're...they're really alive?" Grimsley gulped as he thought of the exposed brain.
"Maybe, if you call that alive. Fusing machine with man, biological manipulation, genetic enhancements, bah. The Jahari are plagued humans, a blighted race." The Goliath nodded towards a gang of Bahari that were feasting on a felled Artisan, eating the metal of the battlesuit as well as gorging on the pilot within. "The heart in the middle has a pilot in it but it's not anything like what you and I do. Not something I would wish for anyone to try and understand. I am General Goulet of the Artisan Confederate. This was the base I was overseeing and was on my routine scouting when I was called back because of an attack. Who would ever imagine I would find Jahari rising up from the earth itself?"
Grimsley looked back nervously over his shoulder at Ronald. That had been him attacking the base originally, not the Jahari. That was an explanation better left untold though. The Bahari in the area stopped though, done finishing off all the other possible Artisans they could and turning their attention to Grimsley and the general, their tongues lolling out of their mouths, dripping with an acidic saliva. "Let them come, Grimsley," Goulet said, raising his whip-sword up in front of his face. "We will have to fight our way to escape them, for there is no way we can defeat an army of Jahari. Let us fight together, for our survival!"
Grimsley merely swallowed hard, his fears and nerves caught in his throat. For survival?
* * * * *
McCormack's Goliath fell backwards onto the ground, the hole through its chest sizzling. Irina was standing, finally moving after so much meditative stillness. The Rose Thorn General was still stuck on the ground, her arm shot as she struggled to get back up to her feet. Away from all of them the air flickered, warping and expanding until an Artisan Goliath faded into existence.
It was a pale white, almost ghostly, and its entrance reinforced this idea. It looked like an Exo-class suit, but it had been heavily modified, with bulky, block-like shoulders that jutted up to the top of the head, making the Goliath look hunched and lacking a neck. It needed these enlarged shoulders though as its right arm had been removed from the forearm down and replaced with a large laser weapon, a massive gun that merged with the arm with a smoking, red barrel. This shorter, bulky-topped machine was approaching the group confidently, no fear of Irina or any other Enian attacker.
"I'm not sorry at all," the newcomer smirked, proud of his achievement in striking down McCormack. "Let the cocky bastard suffer for his arrogance." The battlesuit kneeled down above the Rose Thorn General, helping to lift her up and supporting her weakened frame. "He got what was coming to him."
"You have yet to receive what you deserve though," Irina stated with a bitter coldness. There was anger within her, an old flame coming back to life after being burnt out for so long. "Marzok the Bear will make sure to bring deliverance unto you."
"Who?" The apparition Goliath stopped, urging the Rose Thorn General to go on without him. He would deal with this pest if he had to.
"It's one of her tribal gods, a totem of the northern environment said to bring great love and mothering but also the wrath that comes with it, enough to freeze over an entire continent," McCormack said as the Western Sun brushed itself off nonchalantly, the hole still clear through its chest. "She is a northern barbarian after all."
"But you...you're dead!" the Artisan screamed in frustration.
"Assumed dead yes. Thanks to Irina's warning though my custom cockpit descended into the lower abdomen here for safety." McCormack banged a metal fist against the lower stomach area on his Goliath. "Bit cramped but I'll survive."
"You nearly got yourself killed showing off again," Irina murmured softly.
"I know, I know, this time I'm sure I've learned my lesson and I probably won't do it again, special circumstances notwithstanding. I promise sweetie." There was sincerity in the gunslinger's voice, something rather unusual for him and the Artisan flipped to looking between the two Enian battlesuits.
"You mean you two are...you two...oh so you don't like me because I hurt your boyfriend is that it?" the enemy smirked.
"Yes," came the very blunt reply from the Wordsmith General. "I don't like you."
"Well that's alright, you won't be around on this world much longer anyways." The wind picked up on the battlefield and the usually sunny and warm plains of Narrius grew surprisingly cold. Dark clouds started rolling in, drizzling down fat drops of rain onto the grassy turf. Puddles quickly began forming, the earth unable to absorb water faster enough to keep it off the surface.
"Weather's perfect," McCormack blankly announced.
The Artisan looked at the general quizzically. "What are you talking about?"
"You wouldn't know this I'm guessing," McCormack continued as he tried to inspect the gap in his chest. "Damn you got me good. Anyways, you wouldn't know but Irina there used to have a different name before she was the Wordsmith General. She used to be known as Ice Queen Irina."
A blue tinge enveloped the Jabberwocky, and the water surrounding crystallized, icicles hanging off the chassis of the battlesuit and snowflakes forming in the air. Soon there was ice creeping up the feet of the warmachine and surrounding it on the ground. The Artisan became entranced watching the temperatures plummet and the ice swirl around.
"Good luck my friend," McCormack said as he patted the Goliath on the shoulder. He had crept over during the sudden shift in Irina's appearance. "You're going to need it."
A/N: Phew that was a whole lot to pack into one chapter! The Jahari are finally here though, can anyone survive the unholy fusion of man and machine?