The platoon of Crimson Commandos marched in formation down the city streets toward the palace, twenty-four soldiers in total. Kicking open the door, they covered each other's flanks while advancing warily into the foyer. After ensuring there was no threat present, they gathered around the platoon commander, awaiting his orders.

"This is a cleanup operation," the commander called out. "Unless advised otherwise, anything you find here that breathes or moves, you deal with it like you would a threat. First Company, we'll take the ground floor. Second Company, you head upstairs. Third Company, see if there's a floor below this. If not, head back to us. Second Company, you do the same, once you've cleared upstairs. Be careful of everything and ready for anything. Move out."

The three teams headed off, the platoon commander leading his seven-man company out of the foyer and into the adjacent chamber. Fanning out, guns raised, they examined each space in turn. The chambers were huge, spartan, and devoid of life though comfortably furnished with what looked to be newly made couches, tables and chairs.

First Company entered a long hallway, lined with portals leading into more large rooms that were windowless and entirely dark. Wall-bound candles flickered, making the shadows dance. As they made their way cautiously down the narrow passage, all the candles in the hall suddenly and inexplicably went out. There was movement. Something reached out from the shadows along the floor and dragged two commandos by the ankles into a neighbouring room. There was a short burst of gunfire, followed by the soldiers' petering cries.

The commander ordered his men to keep from pursuing their comrades into the opaque darkness beyond the doorway. His crimson lenses picked up nothing.

"Flash out!" He tossed a flash grenade into the room. Two seconds later, it flew back out. There was no time to react. The device filled the hall with a searing burst of white light that momentarily blinded the commander and his men.

"Hey! Kingsley and Goyer are gone!"

The commander clenched his jaw, as the two men's shouts could be heard echoing through the palace. He'd now lost four men to these invisible foes, leaving him with less than half his original team.

"Everybody, fall back," he ordered.

They fled the dark hall and returned to the foyer. One of the commandos pulled the helmet off his head so he could wipe the sweat from his eyes. "We had our backsides handed to us by that dragon the other day," he growled, "and now Balsa drops us into a city where we're getting picked off like vineyard grapes. What does Balsa expect us to do?"

"What we were ordered to," answered the commander sternly. "Regardless of what we're dealing with, this sortie is our responsibility. And we will not concede defeat without a fight."

Several figures charged into the foyer and all of First Company turned about in reflex, guns raised.

"Hold your fire, damn it! It's Third Company." The commander stepped up to meet them. "Report."

"We found no sign of any floor below this one." The leader of Third Company looked around curiously. "Sir, where's the rest of your team?"

Sounds of gunfire erupted upstairs.

"Third Company, you're with us," ordered the commander, cocking his gun. "Everybody, upstairs. Move!"

The troop charged upstairs. They rushed down a long narrow corridor, halting when the head of the pack spotted something down an adjacent hall.

"Hostile!"

The trooper turned about and opened fire, two others with him lighting up the hall with gun flares, the roar of their weapons deafening.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!"

The commander joined them at the head of the corridor and flashed a torch into the darkness, noting the oddly shaped objects hanging on the walls. A peculiar-looking large mirror reflected what little light there was. At the far end of the hall stood a human figure that had endured the assault, but had lost an arm, a good share of its body and much of its head. The terrace door directly behind hadn't much left to it either. Despite that, it remained standing. He shined the torch on it. It was made of wood. They approached warily. One of them poked it and it wobbled slightly.

"This is your hostile?" he chortled, throwing his arm over its broken shoulders. "It's a bloody effigy."

The figure twitched slightly. Lifting its remaining arm, the figure pulled the machine gun from the trooper's hands and then kicked him back towards the rest of the men. It leapt through the door, onto a balcony, and over the side. Those commandos who raced after it and onto the open patio were plucked by winged shadows, stronger than any bird. The creatures carried the men, thrashing in panic, out over the palace square and dropped them into the large fountain at its centre.

"Hostiles," yelled someone from behind. "Multiple hostiles! Ambush!"

The decorative features on the walls came to life, their limbs pointed metal prods and curved plastic pincers. They darted along the walls, skittering, poking and biting the soldiers like an aggressive posse of insects. In the narrow confines of the hall, the commandos struggled to avoid shooting each other as they fought off the nimble creatures that devilled them.

A paper-thin golem peeled itself off from the wall and coiled its limbs, forming a tall and slender figure with six long tendrils for arms, two more for legs. Bullets punched through it, but it was undeterred. It wrapped an arm around one soldier's helmet and started to crush it. Frantically, the commando yanked his head free of it. Another commando kicked holes in the wall, trying desperately to free himself of a golem that had latched onto his leg.

The mirror flexed and departed the wall, its appearance reminiscent of a praying mantis. Its razor-thin arms, though slight, were hardier than glass, capable of slicing clean through steel. It sheared any gun barrel in reach, rendering them useless.

"Frag out!"

The commander tossed a grenade down the hall as his men ran, destroying many of the small golem and much of the hall. No sooner did they fall when more took their place.

"Everybody, back downstairs!"

Those commandos still in possession of working weapons continued to shoot as they stumbled back down the main stairs. Others switched to sidearms, squeezing off shots from their pistols in a desperate attempt to hinder the enemy advance. As they tried to make a stand in the foyer, the great chandelier overhead fell, landing with a ground-trembling thud. Like a jellyfish, the crystalline creature squirmed along the foyer floor, jabbing at the commandos with its diamond limbs, knocking them off their feet, the pointed ends cutting deep into their armour. Bullets chipped away glistening chunks but did no serious harm. Down the stairs flowed a stream of golem.

"Fall back outside!" the commander screamed.

The commandos poured out the front door, firing blindly.

"Grenades!"

Pins were pulled and grenades thrown. A dozen devices of devastation went off at once and a cloud of dust shot from the doors, echoing the tremendous roar. The commandos watched as the entrance collapsed, obstructing any golem from emerging.

"Look there!" All eyes turned to where a trooper pointed.

Nearby lay all of Second Company and those of First who had vanished from sight. Their weapons lay shattered on the ground around them.

"They're alive! They're all alive!"

One of the commandos threw his helmet off in raw frustration. "This is nonsense," he roared, "complete and utter bloody nonsense! We're supposed to secure a whole city like this? Are you kidding me?"

The commander gestured to the radio man. "Get Balsa on the line."

******

"Is it really so difficult to dispose of a few intruders without turning my fortress entirely upside down?!" Balsa took the cigar out of his mouth and spat, looking out from the bridge. Dust rose up around the engineering quarter like a slow-moving storm. Scattered fires could be seen burning in other districts. "Send two more units after the intruders, and do so quickly before some fool manages to break something that's actually important."

Balsa hadn't brought an entire army, choosing to forsake numbers in favour of speed. He had appropriated only enough to staff the fortress, a modest complement of Crimson Commandos and sufficient Storm Wolves to match the ferocity of any opposition the enemy could muster in such a short time. The Storm Wolves were as good as a fair-sized army, but not when they were being piloted by incompetents, he raged. He whipped away from the window.

The tactical officer answered the phone ringing on his console. "Bridge?" Excited chatter erupted through the earpiece. "Stand by." The officer turned and looked at the general. "Sir, Crimson Platoon reports a majority of their forces have been incapacitated and are requesting additional support."

"I thought that might occur." This was more or less in line with his expectations. The commandos were intended to be nothing more than a vanguard to test whether the city really contained any golem that presented a threat. And they had.

"I was hoping to deliver this city to the Commission in one piece, but I am not being left with much of a choice. Recall the commandos and deploy every Steam Wolf we have. I want everything that puts up any resistance, no matter what, purged from this city. Authorise any and all use of force. The real battle begins now!"

******

Dorothea and Turner watched from the library balcony, obscured by shadows, as the armoured soldiers retreated to the fortress, carrying their wounded and unconscious.

"Look at 'em go," Turner said, watching the group through binoculars. "Those little golem were amazing!"

Dorothea hugged Emet tightly against her chest. "Do you think they'll be back?"

"Not too sure. Hopefully, Mr Herrera..."

Turner swung the binoculars upwards as several metal chutes emerged from the fortress's steel belly. He watched as monstrous objects began to roll out, descending swiftly and heavily, some bouncing off the tops of buildings and houses before striking the ground with thunderous peals. Turner fixed his gaze on one that had landed four blocks away from the palace. Steam gushed from a plumage of pipes on its back, blowing away the cloud of brown dust that surrounded it and filling the air with a mournful howl. The ball expanded and arms, legs, head, and body appeared. Turner gasped and took an involuntary step backwards as the fallen giant rose to its full height from within the shallow crater it had made. He lowered the binoculars, his palms clammy, and looked apprehensively at Dorothea.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure." He raised the binoculars again with shaking hands. "It's got two legs and a head like, well, sort of like a wolf, but it's a machine I think." Windows in the nearby buildings trembled as the giant wolf machine advanced with mounting speed towards the palace.

"What's it doing?"

"Coming right this way!" he gasped and grabbed Dorothea's hand. "Come on!"

They dashed back into the library. The floor shook slightly and the ancient dust in the girders filled the air. Several stacks of books collapsed.

Turner yanked Dorothea behind a mound of books as a gigantic wolf-like machine burst through the library wall, using its shield as a battering ram. Books and rubble exploded into the air, crashing down on tables and chairs. A thick cloud of dust extinguished the lamps, plummeting the room into an almost impenetrable darkness.

An electric lamp ignited on each side of the wolf's broad chest. Pivoting its torso, it scanned its surroundings for enemies. Bursts of steam imbued the air with a faint mist. The accompanying howls were terrifying.

"Stay very still," Turner murmured into her ear. She nodded.

As the steam-based howl faded, a faint sound of ruffling paper could be heard from somewhere beyond the bank of books concealing them. Emet emerged from under the torn volumes and rubble and began climbing its way back to them as quickly as its stubby legs would permit. It was moving in plain sight. Dorothea threw a panicked look in the wolf's direction but it hadn't spotted Emet. She reached over the mound of books, grabbed Emet by the arm, and yanked him to safety as the beast's head swung slowly in their direction. Dorothea stuffed Emet into her bag. Her elbow bumped the pile of books they were hidden behind and it collapsed. The machine swung about and fixed its glass eyes on the exposed pair. Turner leapt to his feet and wrenched Dorothea up with him.

"Run!"

Bullets punched holes into the floor inches from their heels. They dashed around a corner as dozens of small golem moved to intercept the machine. They raced down the stairs into the foyer and halted as they saw the rubble blocking the front doors. They turned and fled deeper into the palace. They heard a roar. The wolf was not far behind. Dorothea and Turner dashed around marble pillars, but the machine barrelled through them like they were chalk.

The crystal chandelier, the largest of the golem, threw itself into the path of their pursuer. The wolf machine raised its shield and charged into the golem with such force that the golem's shell splintered into a thousand cracks as Dorothea and Turner raced away.

With the palace offering no sanctuary, they made for the garden and dove behind a thicket near the statue of Corrin Dovetail. They could hear the pounding tread of the machine as it scoured the garden in frustration. With all its wolf-like resemblance, it lacked the olfactory capacity to sniff out its prey.

Dorothea clutched the pouch around her neck in terror, her other hand gripping the bag over her shoulder containing Emet. Her thoughts flashed to the dragon she had conjured up on the beach and she squeezed the pouch tighter, wishing she could bring to life something far more powerful than the dragon, strong enough to vanquish not only the mechanical creature that was likely minutes away from finding and destroying them but also the dreaded Fortress Six. The ground trembled slightly as the wolf pounded up and down the garden in its fury. She looked down and her eyes lit on a gurgling hole near the base of the statue, one of the many open drains that carried off the excess waters that nourished the garden. She yanked the pouch over her head and took out the parchment.

"What are you doing?" Turner hissed.

"We can't let them take the city, Turner."

"But Herrera said..."

"I don't believe those machines are at all part of Mr Herrera's plans."

"What are you going to do?"

"The only thing I can think of," she whispered. "The only thing that will ensure the city doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Not now or ever." She closed her eyes and mouthed a few words before dropping the precious parchment down the drain with her finger. The water bubbled up and pooled for a moment. Dorothea shoved her fingers in to push it in further but couldn't reach it. There was a choking noise from inside the drain and slowly the pool of water receded into the hole.

The ground began to shake. Leaves fluttered to the ground.

Dorothea shrieked as the wolf machine charged through the trees, heading directly towards them. Four winged golem swooped down from the palace roof, scratching at the giant's face with claws hard enough to split its steel skin. One managed to pierce one of the wolf's glass eyes and yank it free.

The machine swung its heavy shield and batted a golem hard against the palace wall, where it fell to the ground. Aiming its gun barrel, it shot two more out of the air, their broken remains dappling the greenery. With an anxious look at the hole where she'd stuffed her precious parchment, Dorothea followed Turner into the nearby trees. Behind them, as it thrashed about in search of the fourth golem, the mechanical beast crushed the statue of Corrin Dovetail beneath its feet, leaving nothing but broken stone to mark the spot that had once honoured the city's founder.

******

The parchment swept down the long stone gullet into one of the many underground fresh-water channels, deep into the bowels of the mountain. Adhering to the will of its keeper, the spirit allowed the torrent to take it deeper into the earth, to places where no human or golem hand had ever reached, eventually reaching where the molten mantle of the mountain flowed.

The spirit stationed within the parchment forestalled the searing touch of the fiery spring long enough to exert an explosive jolt of energy in its bid to motivate the mountain's stagnant heart to beat once again. Its power exhausted, the spirit vanished along with the parchment, its ashes merging with the magma, and started a chain reaction that made the water above steam and boil and the sluggish lava quicken in its stone veins.

Stirred from its long dormancy, the slumbering volcano returned to life.

******

Dorothea and Turner fled through the trees and towards the open city streets. The pounding of the machine's heavy feet was relentless as it pursued them, gun roaring, steam howling, denying them the opportunity to escape its shadow for long. Whenever they thought they had made some headway, it tore through a wall nearby like it was cardboard, inexorably closing the gap between them.

It was toying with them.

Dorothea clung to the bag over her shoulder, feeling Emet's weight within. With each step, her feet grew heavier and she struggled not to succumb to exhaustion. Her lungs burned. She had no idea where they were going. There simply was no time to pause and regroup, no luxury to stop and plan. They dashed around another corner into a narrow alley, and stopped in their tracks. It was a dead end.

The two of them glanced at each other in fear and turned around.

The Storm Wolf stood, facing them, hunched over menacingly. They watched in horror as its razor-sharp teeth parted ways, its fearsome snout yawning wide. A light deep within its throat began to glow, burning brighter and brighter.

With a cry, Dorothea turned and pressed herself against Turner. She buried her head in his shoulder, unable to look, fearing what was to come next. The world shook violently. Dorothea screamed as Turner gripped her hard. Cracks fissured along the cavern walls above and ocean water began first to seep and then gush through them. Pent-up pockets of pressure rived the streets, exploding free of the earth. Ferocious fountains of steam shot up into the air.

A chasm opened up beneath the wolf monster and a fierce surge of steam lifted the machine high into the air. Helpless, it fell backwards into a building where its legs thrashed impotently. It was stuck.

"Keep moving! Keep moving!" Turner shouted. He yanked Dorothea forward, causing her bag to fall off her shoulder. Frantic, she pulled herself free from his grasp and grabbed the bag. The ground shook again, followed by a crumbling sound. The stone cavern ceiling overhead began to shatter and fall, its diamond stars bursting into a thousand glittery fragments as they fell to the earth.

Dorothea and Turner lunged into an alcove alongside a building. They watched, terrified, as the light-giving fissures overhead broke apart. The ceiling came crashing down on Fortress Six, causing it to shudder and tip. Several of the anchoring cables snapped, whipping back to etch the few surrounding edifices that still stood. Several fires broke out. Dorothea thought fleetingly about Herrera and the Brigade, hoping they had managed to escape safely, praying that her actions had not been the cause of their deaths. But there had been no other alternative.

She only hoped it had been enough.

******

Balsa didn't understand it. Everything had been going so well, well enough to suggest that victory was in his grasp. In the blink of an eye, all that had changed. The mountain itself was somehow fighting back, its yawns dislodging detriment of such size that each struck his coveted fortress with the force of a bomb, devastating whatever it touched.

"What in the damn...?" Balsa blurted, as he was nearly tossed from his chair. His half-finished cigar rolled across the floor and disappeared under a console. The war fortress trembled mightily.

"It appears this is a dormant volcano," the officer said, as he clung to a handrail to keep himself from being tossed off his feet.

"Dormant isn't how I would describe this godforsaken mesa. Damage report!"

"The hull has been perforated in multiple locations. Districts three, six and eight, as well as the armoury and master machine room have sustained extensive damage—"

A huge chunk of debris fell, striking one of the zeppelins holding them aloft. It punched a gaping hole through the dirigible, sparking yet another fire.

Watching the fast-spreading conflagration peel the skin off the zeppelin's steel bones, Balsa was aghast. His mission, the one that had filled him with a supreme, almost godlike confidence, was spiralling headfirst towards disaster. Who – or what – was responsible for this outrage? How was it even possible?

"Sir, Zeppelin Two is impaired."

"I have eyes, Lieutenant!" Balsa barked.

"Our equilibrium is comp—"

The entire fortress tilted hard to the right. Balsa fought to remain upright.

"Equalise!" he shrieked. "Equalise!"

"I can't, sir," another officer gasped. "Zeppelin Two has sustained too much damage to recover elevation. We're going down!"