The Colossus charged.
The Godframe met it head-on.
Their collision shook the wasteland—a shockwave that cracked the earth, that sent debris flying, that echoed across the empty plains. The Godframe's fist connected with the Colossus's jaw, snapping its head to the side. The Colossus roared, its mandibles clicking, its tail lashing out.
The tail caught the Godframe across the chest.
The impact sent it staggering back, its feet carving trenches in the earth. Aurelion gasped, his body jolting in the cockpit. He felt the pain—not physical, but neural. The Godframe's damage echoed through the link, through the helmets, through his mind.
"Noah!" he shouted. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Focus!"
The Colossus lunged.
Its massive front limbs slammed into the Godframe, driving it backward. Its mandibles snapped, aiming for the cockpit. Its throat sac pulsed, glowing brighter.
Aurelion saw it.
"Acid!" he shouted. "Brace!"
The Godframe raised its arms.
The acid came—a torrent of glowing blue liquid that splattered across the Godframe's armor. The metal sizzled. The paint peeled. The surface bubbled and hissed.
But it held.
"Noah," Aurelion said. "We need to burn it off!"
"How?"
Aurelion reached for a control.
"Like this."
The flamethrowers activated.
They were mounted under the Godframe's arms—twin nozzles that swiveled on 360-degree joints. They ignited with a roar, sending twin streams of fire at the Colossus.
The flames hit the acid.
The acid burned.
Not the Colossus—the acid. The corrosive liquid ignited, burning away in a flash of blue light. The Colossus screeched, recoiling, its throat sac dimming.
"It worked!" Noah shouted.
"Don't celebrate yet!"
The Colossus recovered.
It swung its tail again, aiming for the Godframe's legs. Aurelion dodged—barely. The pincer clipped the Godframe's knee, sending sparks flying. The Godframe stumbled, caught itself, kept fighting.
The Colossus pressed its advantage.
It lunged, its mandibles snapping, its claws raking. The Godframe blocked, countered, struck back. Its fist connected with the Colossus's chest, shattering plates, drawing ichor.
The Colossus didn't stop.
It kept coming.
The battle raged for hours.
The Godframe fought. The Colossus fought. The wasteland trembled. The sky darkened. The world narrowed to the two titans locked in combat.
Aurelion moved the Godframe like an extension of his own body. He dodged the acid, blocked the claws, countered the tail. He used the flamethrowers to burn away the corrosive liquid, keeping the Godframe intact.
But it wasn't enough.
The flames didn't hurt the Colossus. They didn't even slow it down. They just burned the acid—nothing more.
"Noah," Aurelion said. "The fire isn't working."
"I know."
"We need something else."
"Like what?"
Aurelion thought.
"The acid," he said. "It's corrosive, right?"
"Yes."
"What if we use it against it?"
The Colossus lunged.
Aurelion dodged, circling around the creature. He positioned the Godframe behind it, near its tail. The Colossus turned, its eyes tracking him.
But Aurelion was ready.
He fired the flamethrowers.
Not at the Colossus—at the ground.
The flames hit the acid that had pooled there, igniting it. The explosion was massive—a fireball that engulfed the Colossus's legs, that burned through its hide, that sent it staggering.
The Colossus screamed.
Aurelion pressed his advantage.
He charged, his fist connecting with the Colossus's chest. The impact shattered plates, cracked bone, drew more ichor. The Colossus staggered. It fell.
But it didn't stay down.
It rose.
Its body was broken—its hide cracked, its legs burned, its chest shattered. But it rose. It roared. It lunged.
Aurelion met it head-on.
The Godframe's fist connected with the Colossus's face. The Colossus's claw raked across the Godframe's chest. They fought—not like warriors, but like forces of nature. Like gods.
Like titans.
Hours passed.
The battle continued.
The Godframe was damaged—its armor cracked, its systems failing, its power dimming. The Colossus was wounded—its hide broken, its legs burned, its eyes destroyed.
But neither would fall.
"Noah," Aurelion said, his voice ragged. "We can't keep this up."
"I know."
"We need to end it."
"How?"
Aurelion looked at the Colossus.
It was slowing now. Its movements were sluggish. Its attacks were weaker. It was tired. It was hurt. It was dying.
But it wasn't dead yet.
"The throat," Aurelion said. "The sac. If we can hit it—"
"It'll explode."
"Yes."
"How do we get close enough?"
Aurelion paused.
"We distract it. Hit it with everything we've got. Make it angry. Make it stupid."
"And then?"
"Then we shove our fist down its throat and light it up."
Noah was silent for a moment.
"That's insane."
"Probably."
"It'll never work."
"It has to."
The Colossus roared.
It was still coming—its massive form lumbering across the wasteland, its glowing eyes fixed on the Godframe. Its throat sac pulsed with blue light. Its mandibles clicked. Its tail lashed, carving furrows in the earth.
Aurelion gripped the controls.
"Noah," he said. "Are you with me?"
"Always."
"Then let's do this."
The Godframe charged.
It moved like a force of nature—its massive legs pounding against the earth, its arms swinging, its golden eyes blazing. The Colossus met it head-on, its claws raking, its mandibles snapping.
Aurelion dodged.
He ducked under the claw, rolled past the mandibles, came up behind the Colossus. He fired the flamethrowers—not at the creature, but at the ground, at the acid, at everything.
The flames erupted.
The wasteland burned.
The Colossus screeched, its eyes tracking the fire, its body turning toward the heat. It was distracted. Confused. Angry.
Aurelion moved.
The Godframe lunged.
It grabbed the Colossus by the jaw—one massive hand on the upper mandible, one on the lower. It forced the mouth open, the mandibles splitting vertically, revealing the bioluminescent blue mouth, the rows of teeth, the pulsing throat sac.
"NOW!" Aurelion shouted.
The Godframe shoved its fist down the Colossus's throat.
The Colossus screamed.
It was a sound of pure agony—a shriek that shook the wasteland, that rattled the Godframe, that echoed across the empty plains. The creature thrashed, its claws raking at the Godframe's arm, its tail lashing wildly.
But Aurelion held on.
"Noah!" he shouted. "The flamethrower!"
"Which one?"
"The right arm! Fire it!"
Noah fired.
The flamethrower ignited—a torrent of fire that raced down the Godframe's arm, through its fist, into the Colossus's throat. The flames hit the sac.
Nothing happened.
The sac pulsed. It glowed. It burned. But it didn't explode.
"Noah!" Aurelion shouted. "It's not working!"
"What?!"
"The sac! It's not exploding!"
The Colossus screamed—not in pain, but in fury. Its claws raked across the Godframe's arm, tearing through metal, drawing sparks. Aurelion gritted his teeth, holding on.
"What do we do?!" Noah shouted.
Aurelion looked at the sac.
It was glowing—pulsing with that eerie blue light. It was damaged. Burned. But it was still intact.
"We rip it out," he said.
"What?!"
"The sac! We rip it out!"
The Godframe's fist clenched.
Aurelion twisted his arm, his fingers digging into the soft tissue of the Colossus's throat. The creature thrashed, its mandibles snapping, its claws raking. But he held on. He gripped the sac.
And he pulled.
The sac tore free.
It came out with a wet, tearing sound—a mass of glowing blue flesh that pulsed weakly in the Godframe's hand. The Colossus screamed. Its throat gushed ichor. Its body convulsed.
But it didn't die.
It stumbled back, its claws clutching at its throat, its eyes wide with pain. It looked at the Godframe—at the sac in its hand—and it understood.
It turned.
And it ran.
"It's fleeing!" Noah shouted.
"Where?"
"Toward the city!"
Aurelion's blood went cold.
The Colossus was running towards the walls. Toward New Haven. Toward the millions of people who lived there.
It was wounded. It was dying. But it was still a Colossus.
And it was heading straight for the city.
"Noah," Aurelion said. "We need to stop it."
"How?"
"I don't know."
He looked at the Godframe's systems. They were failing—power dimming, armor shattered, joints locking. The machine was barely standing.
But it was still standing.
"Noah," he said. "Are you ready for round two?"
Noah was silent for a moment.
Then, quietly: "I don't have a choice do I."