Thirty-Two #2
There’s an EXPLODE in each head. I grab the spent canister and run back to the cover of a pile of boxes. It drives a piston down into the spike. That’s why the arms don’t need leverage, all the force comes from inside.
I don’t use EXPLODE much on Star, since it’s a one-shot weapon.
But these ejectable canisters solve that problem, as long as you can afford plenty of them.
The sheer amount of wealth represented by those dozen arms and the turtle-shell armor is staggering, enough to keep whole Heap families in comfort for a lifetime.
I remember Lorrimer talking about getting wall-of-bits-ed, and now I have a sudden, visceral experience of what that’s like.
This isn’t a good design, not interesting or elegant, but if you can just throw unlimited money at the problem—
[Acting: I’m out of room. Trying something.]
Careful—
Star abandons his retreat as his back legs brush the arena wall.
He rushes forward again, feinting toward the same spot he hit earlier.
At the last minute, he kicks off the ground and shoots upward.
One of Clatter’s hammers has already started collapsing toward him and he meets it halfway, aiming a pair of his legs like scissors near the spindly limb’s base.
They easily break through, and the ungainly construction topples away like a falling tree.
Yes! That could work, cutting those things down one by one—
Two additional limbs are already unfolding as Star dashes out of range.
Sparks gout from their heads. One spike slams down directly in Star’s path.
He pulls up short and dodges to the left, but the other spike is already descending and nearly catches him.
Star tips sideways, balancing on three legs, and evades a strike that would have pinned him to the ground like a captured butterfly.
Another few leaps take him out of range again, and Clatter reverses and starts trundling back toward him without even needing to turn around.
[Analysis: not entirely encouraging. Damage inflicted, but—]
Keep trying that and you’ll get skewered before it runs out of arms. I have another idea. I communicate the plan to Star, half in words and half in mental images.
[Dubious: I thought you didn’t want to tip our hand too early.]
I don’t see much choice. Can you do it? The timing will be tricky.
[Confidence: I can do it. Be ready.]
The same scenario repeats on the other side of the arena.
Star retreats and Clatter advances, waiting for the moment when it can pin Star against the edge.
I glance at Couvere, who looks satisfied; he seems to be a man with plenty of patience.
On the judging platform, however, Alzimyth is watching the proceedings with a visible curl to his lip, one finger tap-tap-tapping on the arm of his chair.
Clearly he doesn’t think highly of all this run-and-hide business.
That’s about the right spot, I send to Star. Go!
Star abruptly switches direction, catapulting himself into another dramatic lunge for Clatter’s shell.
He strikes his target dead-on—more yellow sparks but no obvious damage—and pushes off again, this time not vaulting over the other runic but leaping back the way he came.
Three of Clatter’s arms descend around him, one to block his way forward and one to either side.
I hold my breath, but Star saw this coming and he skids to a halt precisely in the center of the descending triangle of spikes.
They crash into the stone all around him, throwing up clouds of dust.
Star’s not unscathed, though. Another one of his legs stuck out a little too far and got badly mangled by the lead spike, momentarily pinning him in place.
“Purge #3!” I shout, for verisimilitude.
No idea if anyone can hear me. The twisted limb blows out of its socket, sparks cascading around it as debris scatters.
Without it, Star is free again, and he jumps away before more hammers can fall.
He retreats again, and Clatter comes on in relentless pursuit.
I wait. Alzimyth heaves a sigh. Star is nearly backed against the wall once more.
Clatter steps right over the spray of debris from Star’s broken arm. I reach out and feel a tug at my spirit.
The weapon detonates with a roar and a bloom of evil orange flames.
These BLASTS, built from orange sigil blanks, are even more powerful than the ones we used on Rotwurm.
They convert stored sigil energy into HEAT and FORCE modulated by a few carefully placed STRONGs and FASTS.
Star can fit three of them inside his carapace, and they drop out through hatches in his underside.
They’re wrapped in metal skins like little eggs, and they don’t look like much—it’s no surprise Couvere didn’t notice this one, dropped under cover of purging a leg.
Applied to Clatter’s shell, I doubt it would have done more than scratch its armor.
But coming from underneath, the turtle runic has no such protection.
Clatter actually rises a few centimeters into the air, all its bulk lifted clean off the ground for a moment.
It lands splay-legged and stands stock-still for a moment, smoke gouting from beneath it in torrents, then slowly topples sideways.
Small fires flicker on the flagstones all around it. Couvere is shouting something.
I only have eyes for the judging platform. Hisham is just staring, but Alzimyth has straightened up, nearly rising out of his seat. Our eyes lock across the arena, and there’s a strange expression on his face. Not just surprise, but—
He looks away, then speaks, voice booming over the rising chatter of the crowd.
“Taj and Star are the winners!”