Alex settled into the Lanstag's cockpit. The interior was tighter than the Arosaurer's, the VR projection system painting the walls with a seamless view of the hangar. He gripped the dual-lever controls, feeling the machine's weight shift beneath him.
The System overlay flickered.
CORE IDENTIFICATION
Name: Lanstag
Zoid Core: High-Output Medium-Grade Core (Timber-Crest Bull)
Classification: Moose-type
Role: Heavy Cavalry Assault, Line-Breaker, High-Mobility Knight Combatant
Crew: 1 (Pilot), 1 (Backseat)
TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS
Length: 17.8 meters
Height: 12.1 meters
Weight: 72.0 tons
Maximum Speed: 290.0 km/h
ARMAMENT AND EQUIPMENT
Thruster Lance — Rocket-assisted jousting spear, pierces heavy armor at full charge.
Breaker Horns (2) — Reinforced golden antlers for ramming and flipping enemy Zoids.
Rolling Spike Shield (2) — Circular shoulder shields lined with silver spikes, spin at high RPM to shred armor on contact.
Smart Guard (2) — Automated shoulder armor that tracks and blocks incoming projectiles.
Shock Cannon (4) — Compact ballistic cannons for suppression fire.
COMBAT ANALYSIS
Built for one purpose: devastating frontal assault. At 290 km/h with the Thruster Lance extended, the Lanstag smashes through fortified walls and scatters defensive lines. The wide Breaker Horns and Smart Guards make it nearly impossible to stop head-on. Vulnerable to flanking — sharp turns required to bring front weapons to bear.
Alex initiated the startup sequence.
The Lanstag's core engaged with a deep, resonant hum that built into something louder, something that shook the hangar walls. The white-and-silver machine rose, its four legs unfolding with mechanical grace. Its golden antlers caught the light as the head lifted, and the optics blazed amber.
The Lanstag roared. Not the Arosaurer's metallic shriek — this was a brass horn and an engine intertwined, a sound that echoed off the hangar ceiling and rattled the tools on the workbenches.
Through the VR projection, Alex saw Borin step out of his office, wrench in hand. The craftsmen stopped what they were doing. Maren dropped a caliper.
Anya appeared in the hangar entrance, Fia beside her. Lyra and Seraphine followed a half-second later, their eyes fixed on the machine that hadn't existed yesterday.
Borin walked forward, his boots crunching on scattered metal shavings. He looked up at the Lanstag, his weathered face caught between pride and disbelief.
"Where are you headed, lad?" Borin called out.
Alex's voice crackled over the external speakers. "Picking up the Liger Zero parts. Guard the workshop."
And with that, the Lanstag surged forward. Its hooves struck the hangar floor in a rapid, thunderous rhythm — CLANG-clack, CLANG-clack — and then it was through the open doors, sunlight flooding the cockpit, and the machine hit open ground.
The Lanstag accelerated. The hangar shrank behind him. The city wall passed in a blur. And then there was only the open plain, the wind, and the road stretching east.
Borin sighed, watching the plume of dust the Lanstag left behind.
"Ziya," he said, not taking his eyes off the horizon. "Contact the Warden Guild branch of Fort Caldera.
Ziya blinked. "What do I tell them?"
"Tell them a metallic Titan is en route. It's friendly. They are to stand down and grant it full access to the component cache." He finally turned, his expression grim. "We do not need a panicked garrison opening fire on our best customer."
Ziya nodded, already moving toward the communications panel. On the open plain, the Lanstag was a shrinking silver speck, racing toward a city that had no idea what was coming for it.
* * *
Alex pushed the Lanstag hard across the eastern plains, the machine's hooves eating up the kilometers. His destination was Fort Caldera — a fortified supply depot built into the caldera of an extinct volcano. It served as the primary logistics hub for Warden operations in the eastern territories, stockpiling weapons, armor, and Titan-derived components shipped in from guild branches across the region.
The Ion Turbo Boosters had been rerouted there after the supply convoy was ambushed.
The eastern plains gave way to broken terrain as the Lanstag crested a ridge of volcanic rock. Alex eased the throttle back, scanning the landscape ahead. Fort Caldera's outer marker pylons were visible in the distance — dark spires against the amber sky.
Then his motion sensors lit up.
Six signatures. No — eight. Moving fast through a shallow depression below the ridge, heading in the same direction he was. Same direction as the supply routes.
He adjusted the Lanstag's optics and zoomed in.
The creatures were hyena-like — lean, muscular quadrupeds built for endurance rather than brute force. Their hides were a mottled grey-brown, scarred and patchy, with bony ridges running along their spines like crude serrated blades. Each one stood roughly three meters at the shoulder, with oversized jaws that hung slightly open, revealing rows of interlocking teeth designed for tearing. Their eyes were small and set deep, but they moved with a coordinated intelligence that belied their bestial appearance.
Razorjaw Scavengers. Rank D. Individually, they were nothing — a nuisance species that picked at Titan carcasses and harassed supply lines. But they hunted in packs, and packs meant a nest somewhere nearby. Where there were workers, there was always something larger calling the shots.
Alex watched them flow across the terrain like a stain spreading through sand. They hadn't detected the Lanstag yet. The wind was in his favor, carrying his scent away from them.
He could go around. Add twenty minutes to the trip, stay off their patrol route, reach Fort Caldera without incident.
His hands settled on the reins.
The Lanstag's core hummed beneath him, a low vibration that traveled up through the seat and into his spine. The machine was fresh — barely tested beyond the workshop floor and the short sprint from Veridia. He'd built it to break lines, to charge headlong into things that didn't move out of the way. Sitting in the cockpit knowing what it could do and never proving it were two different kinds of frustration.
Eight Razorjaws. Pack hunters. Coordinated. Fast.
Good enough.
Alex dropped the Lanstag into a crouch, angling down the ridge. The machine moved with a predator's silence for something its size — hooves finding purchase on loose rock without scattering it, joints absorbing impact through the smart-guards. He lined up on the trailing edge of the pack, where two stragglers had fallen behind the main group.
"CLANG-clack. CLANG-clack."
The Lanstag's hooves broke into a gallop, and the sound echoed off the volcanic rock like a war drum. The two stragglers snapped their heads up, jaws parting in alarm.
The Lanstag hit the first one at full speed.
The Thruster Lance — still retracted — didn't need to be deployed. The machine's sheer mass and velocity did the work. The Razorjaw crumpled beneath silver hooves, its spine folding at an angle that killed it before it hit the ground. The second stragglers tried to dodge, but the Lanstag's shoulder caught it mid-turn, sending it tumbling across the rock in a spray of dust and loose teeth.
The remaining six scattered — then regrouped. Pack instinct. They fanned out in a loose semicircle, jaws working, emitting a rapid series of sharp barks that echoed across the depression.
"SKREEEEE-SKREEEEE-SKREE!"
The sound was grating, like metal dragged across stone. They were calling to each other, establishing positions. Two broke left. Two broke right. The remaining two held center, lowering their bodies into attack stances.
Alex let them commit.
The Lanstag stood in the center of their formation, motionless, amber optics tracking every movement. The pack circled, tightening, testing. One of the left-flankers lunged — a feint, pulling back before committing. The right-flanker mirrored it.
They were probing. Looking for weakness, for hesitation, for the moment when prey flinched.
Alex smiled.
The Lanstag surged forward — not at the feinting flankers, but straight at the two center-holders. The sudden reversal of expected behavior caught them frozen for a half-second. That was enough. The Breaker Horns — those massive golden antler structures — caught the first center Razorjaw across the ribcage and launched it sideways into its packmate. Both went down in a tangle of limbs and snapping jaws.
"HONNN-BRRRR-ZZZZT!"
The Lanstag's roar split the air, a brass-and-thunder declaration that shook dust from the ridge above. The remaining four Razorjaws flinched. One broke and ran. The other three held — barely.
Alex pivoted the Lanstag, its rear hooves gouging furrows in the rock. The Rolling Spike Shields on the machine's shoulders spun up with a rising whine — "VREEE-EE-EE-EE!" — and the Lanstag charged the three holdouts head-on.
They tried to scatter. The spike shields caught the nearest one as the Lanstag thundered past, shredding its flank in a single pass. The second lunged at the Lanstag's leg, jaws closing around the armored shin. The teeth scraped against titanium-alloy plating and found no purchase. Alex drove the Lanstag's hoof down, and the Razorjaw released with a yelp.
The third — the last one still standing — turned and ran.
Alex watched it go through the optics. It wouldn't get far. A lone Razorjaw without its pack was prey for something larger. The ecosystem would handle the rest.
He powered the spike shields down and checked the Lanstag's readouts. Minor scuff marks on the left shoulder plate. Hydraulics nominal. Core temperature well within tolerance. The leg that had been bitten showed no damage — the armor had done its job.
Eight Razorjaws. Less than four minutes.
He flexed his hands on the reins, feeling the residual vibration of the charge still humming through the controls. The Lanstag had performed exactly as the design predicted — fast, devastating, and durable. The Breaker Horns had delivered more kinetic force than he'd calculated. The spike shields had performed better at speed than in static tests. The hooves needed better traction on loose volcanic rock, but that was a minor adjustment.
Alex turned the Lanstag east and pushed the throttle forward. Fort Caldera's pylons were closer now, and the supply depot's outer walls were beginning to resolve against the caldera's rim.
Behind him, the broken Razorjaw carcasses already drew the attention of smaller scavengers. The plains took everything back, given time.
He had boosters to collect.
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