Building Zoids in a World of Titans

Days later, Alex and Rhian were back in Millcross.

The Iron Mule rattled into the stable yard just as the mill wheels began their afternoon turn. Dust coated the transport's sides, the Lanstag's shielding, the Arosaurer's autocannon barrels. Alex killed the engine and sat there a moment, hands on the wheel, the Liger Zero's cockpit dark behind him.

Rhian unstrapped first. "We're back."

"Yeah." He touched the blue pendant at his throat. "We are."

Ziya emerged from the cabin, datapad already active. "Council's waiting. They sent a runner while you were parking."

The town hall smelled of pine resin and old stone, same as before. But the air had thickened. Elder Thorn sat at the head of the stone table, waterskin empty beside her. Keeper Mara stood at the map board, arms crossed. Master Rowan leaned heavily on his cane, knuckles white.

Elder Thorn welcomed them back with a nod, no ceremony. Keeper Mara poured tea without being asked. Master Rowan managed a thin smile. They traded the usual courtesies — safe journey, good health, the mill wheels turning again — then Thorn set her cup down.

"Tell us what you found upstream."

Alex glanced at Ziya, then Rhian. The map board waited behind Mara, the canyon sketched in charcoal. He didn't reach for his satchel.

Alex laid it out clean. The Terra-Colossus had tunneled into the basin upstream, triggered a deliberate landslide, and sealed the river's outlet with twenty meters of debris. It wasn't an accident. The Colossus fed on the mineral concentration there, and it had claimed the basin as a feeding ground. B-rank. Territorial Lord classification. Earth manipulation capabilities that let it reshape bedrock like clay.

The council went still.

Elder Thorn's fingers tightened on her cane. Keeper Mara's jaw worked. Master Rowan stared at the charcoal map, the canyon sketch suddenly inadequate.

A B-rank Titan wasn't a problem Millcross could solve. Hiring Wardens capable of engaging at that tier, Rank 4 or 5 minimum, a full team would cost more than the settlement's annual grain tax, more than the mill profits for a decade. They didn't have the Sols. They didn't have the leverage. Without the river, the mills stopped. The fields died. The water trade evaporated. People would leave, the ones who could. The ones who couldn't would stay and watch the settlement wither.

But the Colossus wasn't advancing. It had taken the basin, secured its food source, and stopped. Its seismic sensors showed no migration pattern toward Millcross. It was stationary, focused, and content.

Thorn exhaled, the sound rough. "It's not coming for us."

"No," Alex said. "It's not."

Mara poured tea for all of them, hands steady. Rowan leaned back, some tension leaving his shoulders. They treated Alex's assessment as the final word, not because he'd demanded it, but because he'd brought them something they hadn't had before: a clear picture of the threat, stripped of rumor and fear.

Elder Thorn set her cup down. "We can't abandon Millcross."

Her voice carried no desperation, only the weight of someone who had already calculated the cost and found it unpayable. "The eastern families have nowhere to go. The Flats are gone. The Stretch floods every spring. Ironwood Junction is two weeks by wagon — if the road holds, if the Dustbacks don't trample it, if the Greythread Stalker hasn't claimed the river crossings. My grandson's wife is due in three months. She can't walk that far. Neither can Old Hemlock. Neither can half this council."

Keeper Mara unfolded her arms. "The water table drops a foot every week the river stays diverted. Wells go brackish. Crops wither. The stonehorns stop producing. We're not talking about inconvenience, Alex. We're talking about whether three hundred and forty people survive the winter."

Master Rowan tapped his cane against the stone floor. Each strike echoed. "The Confederacy won't send Wardens for a B-rank territorial dispute. Not for a waystation that pays its grain tax on time and asks for nothing else. We've already asked. The response was 'monitor and adapt.'"

Alex didn't move. His fingers found the blue pendant beneath his coat, the worn leather cord familiar against his calluses.

"I gave you the assessment," he said. "The Colossus isn't advancing. It's feeding. It claimed the basin and stopped. Engaging a B-rank terraformer with earth manipulation capabilities requires Rank 4 Wardens minimum. A full team. Specialized equipment. Weeks of preparation. I have three Zoids, a transport, and two people I'm responsible for bringing home alive."

Thorn's gaze didn't waver. "Please, you're the only one we can rely on."

His jaw set. "It's out of my hands. I can't help you."

Mara stepped closer to the table. "Then what do you suggest? We wait until the wells run dry? Until the Colossus decides the basin isn't enough and moves downstream?"

"I suggest you hire specialists. Solara has mining crews with seismic dampeners. Argent Veil has resonance analysts who might negotiate with a terraformer. Aethelgard has siege engineers who can blast a new channel." Alex stood. His chair scraped stone. "What I don't suggest is throwing my machines at a problem they weren't built to solve. That's not courage. That's waste."

He didn't wait for dismissal. Ziya rose beside him, datapad tucked under her arm. Rhian moved slower, her small frame rigid.

The hall door closed behind them. The mill wheel groaned in the distance, turning in a dry riverbed.

They walked the main road in silence. The Stretch's canvas stalls flapped empty. Foundry Row's windows showed faces — watchful, waiting. A child pressed a hand to glass, then vanished as they passed.

The Iron Mule loomed ahead, patchwork armor catching the afternoon light. Its ramp was still down. The cargo bay yawned, dark and smelling of hydraulic fluid and dried blood.

Rhian stopped at the transport's tire. Her hands clenched at her sides.

"How can you just walk away?"

Alex paused, one hand on the cab door. He didn't turn.

"Rhian."

"People are going to die." Her voice cracked. "You know that. You know that. And you're just... leaving."

"What else can I do, Rhian?" He turned finally, the words clipped and precise. "You've seen the Colossus. You've seen what it does to bedrock. A B-rank terraformer with earth manipulation. The Liger's Mane Blast will barely scratch its armor. The Arosaurer's autocannons wouldn't penetrate. The Lanstag's lance would shatter on its hide. I don't have the components for a counter. This isn't a machine I can weld back together. It's a force of nature. Walking into that fight gets us killed and changes nothing."

"That's not —" She stopped. Swallowed. "You helped Veridia. You fought the Liger. You did ride in."

"Veridia was my home. The Liger was a predator I could fight. This is a terraformer the size of a hill that eats Vita-Alloy for breakfast and rewrites the landscape when it's annoyed." His voice dropped, clipped. "Rushing in doesn't save them. It adds to the body count. Me. You. Ziya. The Zoids. And the Colossus keeps feeding."

Rhian's eyes burned. She stared at him, at the pendant visible at his throat, at the grease-stained cuffs of his coat. Something shifted in her face — not anger anymore, something rawer.

"You're scared," she said quietly. "You're scared and you're pretending it's logic."

Alex's throat worked. He looked past her shoulder, at the Stonefang Mountains bruising the horizon.

"Get in the Mule, Rhian."

She didn't move.

"Rhian. Now."

Her chin lifted. "No. Not until you —"

"Get in the Mule."

The command cracked like a whip. Rhian flinched. Her hands unclenched, then curled again, tighter. She spun on her heel and stormed toward the cargo bay ramp, boots pounding metal. The Arosaurer's cockpit hissed open before she reached it. She climbed inside without looking back.

The canopy sealed with a pneumatic THWUMP.

"…haaa."

Advance chapters on my p@tR$0n/Najicablitz.

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