Apocalypse Tamer
Chapter 93: Man vs Factory

As far as dragonlords went, Scalefrost had it easy.

Born on a cold world with pristine white scales, he had lived a privileged childhood among a wealthy, minion-owning brood. For years he had grown stronger on the work of others, as was his birthright, until it was his turn to serve. He enrolled in the Unity’s army, where he learned to believe in Grandmaster Wyrde’s vision of a perfectly ordered universe, and in the dragon race’s mission to bring peace, culture, and civilization to the lesser races across the cosmos.

Yes, sometimes civilization came at the end of a star cannon’s barrel, but non-dragons were like children in need of an education. If you truly loved them, then you shouldn’t spare the rod when they misbehaved. It was an act of tough love, truly. When Scalefrost ate minions alive as a warning to the others to obey his orders, he was only showing them basic decency. Anyone with a good heart would have done the same.

Slowly but surely, Scalefrost had risen through the Unity’s ranks until he became a Rook-Ranked commander under the esteemed General Blackcinders. The unexpected demise of her son Steamslime—a well-bred fellow, but one that stood in the way of his promotion—allowed him a chance to assume a leadership role in her new operation. He and many dragonlords had been sent to the primitive world of Earth to gather resources and tame the local savages to fuel the Lunar Cannon’s development. Holding command over a factory and semi-strategic location might have seemed unworthy of someone of his abilities—he was level forty-five after all—but Scalefrost considered it a chance to prove himself to his superiors. He had worked his minions to the bone to exceed gearsmen production quotas in the hope of obtaining a governorship.

He could already imagine his future once the Unity had fully subjugated this world: retiring to a humble yet lucrative governor role, enjoying his hoard as minions happily worked to mine gold and opals in the depths of the earth for his enjoyment. Scalefrost would become richer without doing anything, and the apes would find meaning in their purposeless existence. They would contribute to something greater than themselves; their master’s net worth.

Everyone would win, really.

At least, that was his plan until he woke up to the tune of explosions rocking his base. Alarms echoed in the metal halls of his factories. The walls trembled and bolts fell off the ceiling.

This didn’t look good.

“What is going on here?!” Scalefrost asked as he rushed into his command room, the steel ground trembling beneath his feet. Three of his hobgoblin minions—craven, but cunning—were frantically typing on the keyboards of the powerful holomachines controlling the base. The light of half a dozen monitors nearly blinded him as they showed pictures of explosions and devastating blasts.

“We’re being bombed, Your Majesty!” one of his minions stated the obvious. One of the monitors turned white as an artillery shell hit the relevant camera.

“Is it the Apocalypse Force?!” Scalefrost had been asked to hold onto the bridge in case the demons descended from the north, where they had established fortified positions, but none of his scouts mentioned the presence of an army on his doorstep! “Then bomb them back! What is Roarwing doing?! Is he napping on the job again?!”

“He already went out in the field to counterattack, Your Majesty,” one of his hobgoblins answered. “Permission to deploy the advanced gearsmen?”

“Granted,” Scalefrost replied as he focused on the monitors. New models of mechanical soldiers poured out of the factory: mechanical spiders the size of elephants equipped with missile launchers on their backs; rounded satellites with turrets flying on their own by negating gravity around them; and red-colored gearsmen spewing fire from pipes and tentacles.

These robots were Scalefrost’s pride and joy. His loyal Crafter minions had toiled days and nights to bring the schematics to life so they could fuel their masters’ war machine. A pity these apes couldn’t create anything with a higher level than their overseer’s; level 40 or so gearsmen were powerful, but far from the strongest constructs in the Unity’s databases.

Still, these robots should be more than enough to repel whoever was stupid enough to attack his–

A terrible screech echoed in the command room, causing Scalefrost to cover his sensitive ears to avoid being deafened. A terrible beam of light had hit his robots right outside the factory, vaporizing them instantly.

To Scalefrost’s horror, a mighty bug monster burrowed out of the fuming wreckages of his troops. The creature, a centipede of colossal proportions, burning with power and wrath. He rampaged across the metal bridge linking the factories to the opposing river shore at an unnatural speed. Neither soldiers nor barricades could slow him down. A massive, familiar-looking armored train strapped to the brim with artillery weapons followed in his wake, firing missiles left and right. A strange mimic rode atop it with a maniacal grin.

Scalefrost choked in horror upon seeing their levels.

“Sixty-three…” He gulped, his mighty reptilian brain unable to process what he saw. “That’s impossible…”

No creature in his base even came close to these invaders’ power. Not even Scalefrost himself. It must have been the Apocalypse Force. Only they could field such powerful units.

“Your Majesty, we’ve identified the ringleader!” One of his hobgoblin minions typed on his keyboard and summoned a picture of a fearsome horror trampling steel walls underfoot; a mighty reptilian beast covered in leaves and thorns, with petals for a face and hungry fangs.

“I am the seed from which your nightmares sprout!” the monster roared with a beautiful, gleeful voice. “I will sow your corpses with my brood!”

Scalefrost hissed in rage upon seeing her creature Type. A race traitor! He should have known! No way these monster savages could destroy a Unity installation without a proper dragon leading the charge!

Wait, this flowery vermin couldn’t have been a natural dragon. She lacked the presence and nobility of a genuine wyrm. She was a pale copy of Scalefrost’s race, an imitation spawned by this planet’s broken System. Her kind’s very existence represented an insult to true dragons and had to be eradicated. Monsters could be tamed and reforged into proper minions; these creatures were faulty from birth.

Speaking of dragons, Scalefrost searched on the monitors for Roarwing… only to freeze upon seeing his comrade’s beheaded corpse appear on one. The killer, an armored ape wielding a pointed stick of steel, was shredding gearsmen left and right at supersonic speed. Even Scalefrost’s trained eyes struggled to follow his movements.

Basil Bohen? Where had he heard the name before? It sounded so familiar–

Oh.

Oh!

“It’s him.” Scalefrost all but choke on the word. “The savage that killed Steamslime and Apollyon.”

Only then did he realize why the armored train he had seen earlier felt so familiar. These soulless barbarians had murdered Steamslime… and turned his shell into a car!

What would they do with his corpse?

At this moment, Scalefrost realized that all his dreams of governorship would never come to fruition. He would be lucky to escape with his life, let alone with his honor intact. The base was lost and his hopes of a promotion with it.

“Send a SOS to General Blackcinders!” Scalefrost ordered his soldiers. “I must evacuate the base immediately!”

“What about the Crafters?” one of his minions asked.

Scalefrost glanced at the relevant monitor. Hundreds of pacified humans worked to craft gearsmen parts, runestone cores, and other armaments along nearly endless assembly lines. The Unity kept them well-fed and rune-carved collars ensured their obedience; for they would die if they left the base’s premises. It would be a blow to lose them all.

And yet it was already too late. Another group of invaders had made its way into the foundry. Some ape with a flute played a song as a golden snake coiled around a gearsman guard and a colossal bird scraped another between its talons. The Crafter minions, deceived by this spectacle, cheered at the scene. It disgusted Scalefrost.

“Detonate the collars,” the dragon ordered in response.

The hobgoblin soldier looked at his master with a disturbed look; his kind never had the stomach to do the right thing. “Your Majesty, are you sure?” Sᴇaʀch* Thᴇ NʘvᴇlFire.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

“Good minions would rather die than live without a dragon’s guidance,” Scalefrost replied. “If these savages could string two sentences together, they would tell you the same. Killing these poor Crafters will spare them a lifetime of misery without our enlightened rule.”

That, and they had learned gearsmen schematics as part of their work. Scalefrost simply couldn’t allow their knowledge to fall into the wrong hands.

“I’ll evacuate now,” Scalefrost decided as he walked towards the command room’s entrance, finding the doors already opened. Huh. Odd. A hobgoblin minion moved away from his keyboard to follow Scalefrost, who had to chide him, “You’ll stay behind.”

“What?” the hobgoblin choked in surprise. No doubt he was floored by the honor granted to him. “Why?!”

“You have served me well,” Scalefrost congratulated them, though he didn’t really believe in his own words. “Try to buy as much time for me as you can. Your sacrifice will be hono–”

The message flashed before Scalefrost’s eyes right as his throat turned sore. He coughed as he struggled to form words and put a hand on his neck. Something viscous flowed between his claws.

What is this? Scalefrost’s eyes widened in dread as he looked at his hand. White liquid dripped on his palm. Is this… blood?

His blood?

“Oh, you have a frog in your throat?” A furball appeared out of nowhere at Scalefrost’s feet, wielding a sword of light. “Let me help. I’m French, I know these things.”

“You…” Scalefrost rasped in anger as he struggled to form words. He ignored the lightning bolts vaporizing his goblin minions or the shadow of General Blackcinder flashing on a monitor’s screen. He only had eyes for that creature that dared to raise its paw against him. “Die!”

Possessed by rage, Scalefrost attempted to stomp the animal with his hand. He crushed steel with enough strength to shake the room, but missed his target. The invader bolted to the side, jumped off a wall, and then leaped again at the dragon.

Scalefrost barely had time to look at his upcoming death before the blade hit his neck.

The beheaded dragon collapsed on the steel floor and gold rained down over his corpse.

Plato remembered these creatures as being harder to kill. Steamslime had cost him a life in the past, the second out of four. Months of killing everything in their way had certainly helped.

And much like Steamslime before him, the dead dragon dropped quite a lot of treasure. Piles of coins, jewels, weapons, and other items materialized over his corpse. Plato wondered how much of it was the dragon’s hoard or reward for the kill. Shellgirl would be quite happy with the golden harvest either way.

“Looks like he has been…” Plato tried to think of a good quip, but the best he could come up with seemed terrible. “Looted!”

“Was that pun truly necessary, oh king of cats?” Vasi asked as her invisibility spell ran out. Most hobgoblins were dead, except for one whom she had restrained with chains of ice.

“I always kill my enemies twice,” Plato said as he stepped over the remains of hobgoblins and jumped on the computer. “Once with words, then with swords. Their shame prevents resurrection.”

“An excellent way to live,” Vasi mused as she faced her captive. “I hope Basil will forgive me for this indiscretion…”

Vasi gathered her breath, then pressed her lips against the hobgoblin’s. The sight of a hideous green humanoid kissing Basil’s girlfriend made Plato shudder, even if it was for a good cause.

“Now, my dear,” Vasi said as she released the hobgoblin, whose will was now under her mental control. “Would you mind granting me complete control of this installation?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the thrall replied as he moved on to the monitors. The shadow of a black dragon briefly materialized on them, their features indistinct; it briefly glared at Plato and Vasi before vanishing without a word.

“Ominous,” Plato commented before deciding to tease Vasi a bit. “I would wash your lips if I were you. If you taste like a goblin, Basil is likely to eat you on the spot.”

“Don’t worry, he has already tasted me in many places,” Vasi replied coyly as she observed the keyboard. “How very interesting. The rune language system is the same as with the holomachine.”

“Your Majesty, I am sorry, we have been remotely cut off from the larger network,” the hobgoblin apologized. “I only have access to local infrastructure.”

“Can you remove the slave collars?” Plato shuddered. He had always been thankful to Basil and René for never putting him through that torture; he didn’t wish it on anyone, not even a dog.

Vasi smiled enigmatically. She glanced at a monitor showcasing an inactive gearsman. “I think we can do far more than that.”

Basil was busy tearing a gearsman apart when the rest of them shut down all at once.

“Ugh?” He looked around the ruins of barricades, halberd raised. Half a dozen gearsmen had fallen inactive to the ground and all the alarms ceased. “What’s happening?”

Basil should have known better than to expect an answer from machines, as none replied to his query. The explosions that had rocked the area not so long ago slowly stopped. This disturbed him slightly, and he refused to lower his guard.

“Hello?” Basil kicked a gearsman in its metal frame. To his surprise, the machine instantly rose up on its telescopic metal legs; its central eye snapped open with a green light. Yet it didn’t open fire immediately. “What’s happening?”

In response, the gearsman started to move around. Its legs clumsily stepped to the right, then to the left, then daddled along the street in a way Basil found farcical.

“Ta da, ta da, tada tada tada tadaaa…” The voice of Plato came out of the gearsman. “Tadadada!”

Basil squinted as he lowered his halberd. “The Pink Panther, really?”

“Do not mock the classics, doubter,” Plato replied through the gearsman.

“Handsome, we’ve taken control of the command room,” Vasi’s voice echoed in the background, this time through the base’s loudspeakers. “We can command the gearsmen from it. Kalki is freeing the hostages as we speak.”

I suppose that’s one of the downsides of relying on drones to do your dirty work, Basil mused. You’re one good hacker short of a disaster.

“Also…” His girlfriend chuckled. “I humbly suggest that you take levels in Technomancer next.”

“Why’s that?” Basil asked with a frown.

A System notification appeared in response.

Basil looked up at the huge death robot in front of them, then over his shoulder at the factory that created it. A gleeful smile formed on his lips.

Karma was a harsh mistress.

Sᴇarch the N0vᴇlFirᴇ.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.