The Spider Tank Awakens
The pile of rocks and debris at the center of the underground plaza wasn't just a random heap of stones and rubble. More precisely, that rubble had buried a massive tank.
Of course, if you could call something with spider-like legs instead of treads a tank.
"This... must be an artifact from the Forgotten Empire era. I have no idea what exactly it is. But that thing on its head is definitely a cannon. Are those legs really just 'legs,' though?"
As Aiman said upon seeing the tank half-buried in the mound, it stood tall with its elongated barrel jutting upward, broken legs poking out awkwardly. Jin-cheol didn't find it purely fascinating.
If this tank was from his own era, it meant its shape had been preserved for ten thousand years.
"...Nah, probably not."
Jin-cheol circled the spider tank with a serious eye. He soon spotted something odd: for a futuristic tank, its design carried a strange heaviness. Above all, the intricate, ornate patterns etched into the armor didn't match the efficiency-driven mechanical engineering of his time.
"So, Forgotten Empire era then?"
"Exactly. Definitely from the Forgotten Empire. I've seen similar relics while traveling the western wastelands."
Aiman had sidled up beside him, answering Jin-cheol's mutter. Jin-cheol shrugged to himself. If the Forgotten Empire had risen after the fall of his own civilization, thousands of years still separated them. In the end, even this tank felt alien to him.
Gazing at it quietly, a sudden thought crossed Jin-cheol's mind. He placed his hand on the exposed armor plating.
"...Heh."
Nothing happened. Unlike Atukai's smart farm or the Antela plaza's printing food court, this tank wasn't indestructible. Pity. One of these would've been a game-changer.
Jin-cheol pulled his hand back and stepped away, taking in the tank's full form—roughly four meters tall. That's when his smirking face suddenly hardened.
Something inexplicable and ominous chilled his spine. What the hell is this?
At that exact moment, Haeta—who'd been hopping around excitedly inspecting the spider tank from a short distance—suddenly staggered.
"Haeta!"
Aiman rushed to her side in alarm, but she froze mid-stumble. All eyes turned to her.
Ignoring the stares, Haeta's face was rigid as she stared into empty space ahead. Her forehead circlet flickered with a pzzt of light.
She spoke.
"...What? Who's talking about a sacred bloodline? Kill the sacred bloodline? What does that—"
At the same instant, a deep woooong vibration echoed through the air. The source was the spider tank.
Soon, dust and dirt billowed up with a rumble.
Amid the chaos, Haeta's expression went blank, her lips twitching as she began murmuring.
[...Kill the sacred bloodline. They cannot be forgiven. The blood and flesh of the chained ones spread like a carpet beneath their feet. Fathers coughed up blood and died in factories, mothers were raped to death, children slaughtered for daily rations. Those who ruined the world still reign, twisting life and fate. Pureblood zealots lost in delusions and illusions, unable to recognize brothers of the same bloodline, whipping the chained. They will return as black giants and burn the world once more...]
Earth and stones tumbled down with a roar. The spider tank, rigid like a dead rock, was moving again.
Before the stirring tank, Haeta continued staring into space with her frozen face, lips mumbling endlessly.
Then one of the tank's legs twitched, and rubble poured toward where she stood. Aiman dashed in, scooping her up to flee, but his short legs weren't made for running with her weight.
Jin-cheol's were much longer—and his reflexes sharper. He was there in a flash, grabbing Aiman and Haeta under each arm and leaping back.
"Hup."
Safely distant, Jin-cheol set them down. Aiman checked Haeta first, oblivious or not to his own near-death scrape. But she still stared blankly into nothing.
Jin-cheol had no time for that. The ancient relic had risen unsteadily on its massive frame, growling as it snapped on its lights—bright enough to illuminate the entire underground plaza.
"Where'd you get those fucking high beams? Turn 'em off."
Jin-cheol glared at what looked like the tank's eyes. A round protrusion on its front bore a sluggish iris that whirred open and shut, scanning them.
"Jin-cheol!"
Peran's voice. She'd already retreated and drawn her sword, its green blade gleaming menacingly. Morel had his out too.
Udim? He was across the way, rifle in hand, staring wide-eyed at the moving spider tank.
Which left only Metidoti still moving.
"Hey, asshole! Where you going?!"
Even while scrambling away, Metidoti bellowed back at Jin-cheol's shout.
"Can't you see? I'm running! You're all dead meat! Soon as I get up there, I'm sealing the entrance!"
"You dumb fuck! This isn't the time—"
The tank's mechanical eye whirred and locked on Metidoti. Internally, it checked its active weapons. Then a small-caliber machine gun below the main cannon swiveled with a creak, aiming at the fleeing man.
Dr-r-r-ruck.
Only a dozen rounds fired before a dud jammed the feed. But that was plenty to shred Metidoti's back like rags.
"Dumb fuck..."
Metidoti collapsed on the spot. His body twitched—he was still alive, barely. But in Jin-cheol's experience, no one survived that.
Not that he felt particularly sorry. He turned back to the tank.
Standing tall on its legs, it loomed even higher. Four legs total—one intact, the other three mangled, cylinders exposed, barely holding it up. The massive main cannon atop its "head" didn't budge, judging by the grinding noises.
"...Half-crippled, then?"
Ting. A spark flew from the mechanical eye. Udim's shot—a perfect first hit, nailing the eye's position. But the translucent casing around it shrugged off the bullet.
The tank growled and pivoted toward Udim. He froze, mesmerized, as he chambered another round.
The main cannon stayed put, but a port beside the eye whirred open. Yellow heat glowed within—then a beam lanced out, dead on Udim's forehead.
But Jin-cheol tackled him a beat faster. The beam scorched past, hitting the plaza wall. A yellow circle flared around the impact, then melted downward like wax. Part of the wall liquefied.
"Fuck, a superheated beam weapon? These future bastards are smart as hell..."
Jin-cheol gaped. No laser that powerful existed in his war-torn era. They lobbed nukes at each other, not beams.
His eyes flicked back to the tank. If it sprayed beams like machine-gun fire, they were done—the whole plaza would melt and collapse.
But after one shot, the tank froze. Jin-cheol heard an internal rumble like a busted muffler on a junker car. Yeah, that kickback's gotta hurt after a shot that strong.
Peran thought the same; she activated her artifact and charged like the wind, her elongated form a silver streak. The green blade shot out, slicing the tank's weakest leg.
The glowing edge rang clear as it severed the joint. A screech like a scream followed as the leg buckled, crashing the tank sideways amid dust clouds.
Peran raised her sword for a follow-up—then a mechanical arm unfolded from the tank's underbelly with a clatter. Industrial robot-style, it whipped out and smashed her away.
"Guh!"
She flew like a discarded toy, tumbling across the plaza floor.
"Sis!"
Morel's eyes blazed with rage. He charged blindly. Faster without silver armor, but not Peran-fast. The tank spotted him, whirring its arm—its tip glowing with a barrel.
Jin-cheol dropped onto the arm like a stuntman, squatting and leaning toward the mechanical eye.
"You meet people, you say hi first. Like a handshake."
His hand clamped the arm. Armor crumpled, fingers digging in. He spun his body downward—the whole arm wrenched free in a spray of torn plating, bolts, and wires.
Jin-cheol rolled with it. But the tank saw opportunity, lifting its last good leg to crush him—possible now that it was lopsided.
"Hyah!"
Morel dove under, slashing the supporting leg's cylinder. It burst with a bang. The tank sagged again; the stomping leg missed, and Jin-cheol rolled clear, hefting the severed arm like a bat.
Over a hundred kilos of metal whistled through the air, smashing the tank's front. A thunderous boom shattered both.
Jin-cheol tossed the wreckage aside and faced the tank. The translucent eye-shield cracked, exposing the orb. It sat slumped, iris just whirring at him.
As it focused, the engine roared—the beam port glowed yellow again.
"Like hell I'll let you fire."
His fist pulverized the eye, plunging deep amid shards and metal. He activated his wrist guard. A clear ching rang out as the white blade of his fish-sword erupted, piercing the tank's guts.
Both froze. The glow faded; the tank went limp with a clang. Hissing followed, then liquid trickling.
Jin-cheol slowly withdrew his bloodied, torn fist—skin split, knuckles raw. The protruding blade dripped yellow oil. He recognized it as the sacred oil Romuto the captain had shown him.
"Fuel for the beam, huh."
Shaking it off, he turned. Black fluid gushed from the tank, which finally collapsed fully.
But Jin-cheol's focus had shifted. He approached Peran, who was sitting up, dazed.