The forest clearing shook with every step Garp took. His arms were crossed, that grin on his face like a wolf sizing up prey. Tessal stood across from him, sweat already running down his temples. He could feel the weight of those eyes—eyes that had seen a thousand battles, eyes that made him feel like he was about to be crushed without a punch being thrown.
"Well, brat?" Garp's voice boomed like a cannon. "You gonna show me what you can do, or just stand there quivering like a leaf?"
Tessal's jaw clenched. His hands trembled, but he forced them to work, adjusting knobs on the bulky machine he'd dragged here with all the stubborn pride he could muster. From behind him came the grinding churn-churn of treads rolling over dirt and roots.
The machine lurched forward into the clearing. A towering Atlas Beetle-mech, its gleaming horn rising like a battering ram, rolled forward on heavy tank treads. Steam hissed from its vents as Tessal shouted, "This is Bulwark!"
Garp raised one thick brow. "Heh. Looks like a toy."
"It's not a toy!" Tessal's voice cracked, but he steadied himself, slamming a lever forward.
Bulwark's horn ratcheted back, clicking like the chamber of a cannon. With a thunderous THUNK, it spat out a spring-loaded round. The small, squat projectile bounced once on the ground before springing sideways—then ricocheting off a tree trunk with a sharp PING! It struck Garp square in the chest.
The old man didn't even flinch. Instead, his grin widened. "Hooh! Ricochet shots, huh? You're cheeky."
The horn chamber rotated, firing again and again. Rounds caromed across the clearing, ricocheting unpredictably—off rocks, trees, even Bulwark's own armor—until the whole space rang like a bell tower. Garp swatted one out of the air, only for it to bounce off his forearm and clip him on the back of the head.
Tessal blinked. "It… worked?"
"Hah!" Garp barked a laugh, unfazed. "Don't think one lucky bounce means you've won!"
He lunged. His fist, broad as a boulder, came crashing down at Bulwark. Tessal panicked, jerking another lever. With a metallic screech, the beetle's horn locked down in front of its body, plating folding into place. The horn slammed into the dirt like a barricade just as Garp's punch landed.
BOOM!
The ground quaked. Dust shot into the air. For a heartbeat, Tessal thought Bulwark had been reduced to scrap. But when the dust cleared, the beetle still stood, treads gouged deep into the soil, horn braced against the impact.
Its wings snapped open with a hydraulic hiss. Panels folded outward, revealing hidden compartments. A chorus of mechanical buzzing filled the air—then the wings unleashed a storm of bee shooters, small drone-like projectiles that streaked toward Garp in a relentless swarm.
"Deploying bee shooters!" Tessal cried, his voice mixing fear and exhilaration.
The sky lit with darting sparks as the bee shooters dove at Garp from every angle. He swatted them aside, each CRACK of his palm like gunfire. His laughter echoed through the chaos. "Now that's more like it! A fight worth sweating for!"
Tessal's heart pounded as he clung to Bulwark's control rig. Every instinct told him to run, but instead he shouted, "Hold the line, Bulwark! Don't let him through!"
The beetle-mech rolled forward on its treads, horn locked into shield position, bee shooters launching in volleys. It was loud, clunky, imperfect—but it was his.
And as Garp hammered against it with fists like iron cannons, Tessal realized something for the first time.
He wasn't just trying to survive anymore.
He was fighting back.