Cain clung tightly to the golemite's severed arm, fingers locked around the jagged stone and metal like a mountain climber gripping a sheer cliff face.
The surface trembled beneath him, vibrating with barely-contained energy as the golemite continued its strange evolution.
'Please work, I'm going all in with you golemite. Don't falter now.'
He gave it the final push — he pushed the toys the golemite was having interest in.
There was no hesitation. The creature absorbed it greedily, breaking it down not crudely, but analyzing it in molecular detail.
It wasn't just perception — it was selection.
Out of the dozens of models and signals it could have imitated, the golemite chose only what it could understand — what was simple enough for its primitive, evolving mind to break apart and truly grasp.
Complex designs were rejected. Only manageable structures, clear and functional, remained.
During assimilation, it felt everything — the minute tension in the joints, the torque of the springs, the flow of force between each mechanism.
It learned what arms and legs are actually for.
The crude mimic of the gatling gun fell off.
Replaced by a new exact replica of the original — the analysis of what rotation could achieve, the rhythm of repeated strikes and the purpose how fire was sustained.
The understanding didn't just grow — it accelerated.
Piece by piece, concept by concept, the golemite rebuilt itself with a deeper, truer mastery over form and function.
Cain shifted his footing, standing on real shoulders now — broad, brutal, and still growing stronger beneath him.
"Haha! Now this is what I call a modern fortress!"
The golemite's body twisted and groaned as the transformation completed.
Its uneven surfaces was gone, replaced by forged steel layered like ancient armor.
Twin gatling guns rose from its shoulders, each fed by raw ores pulled from its own body, forged into bullets on the spot.
The eyes narrowed into sharp crystal slits, rough and cracked like ancient gemstones.
Four arms — two braced behind it, two wielding swords. One blazed with searing flame, the other hissed with cold mist.
The golemite was no longer crude. It had become a walking forge of war, each movement heavy.
The only thing it lacked was experience — now about to get it firsthand.
Ragta's vision sharpened, narrowing to a single, infuriating sight — the human.
Standing atop the golemite's newly morphed shoulder like a conqueror.
Rage surged through Ragta's veins, his prana boiling over the surroundings.
This was the culprit — the architect of Midi and Dilim's humiliation.
This thing, this speck, had orchestrated the grievous injuries of his kin.
He turned to his cousins, voice low but heavy with command.
"Gaws ayuk sasali!"
(Stay out of this.)
But Midi and Dilim dismissed Ragta's request.
Their roars rumbled through the battlefield, raw and stubborn.
They were bloodied, their jaws missing, their bodies worn — but they would not be dismissed like invalids.
They were giants, and their muscles were not for decoration.
With grim determination, the twin-like figures rose fully to their feet, scanning the battlefield with bloodshot eyes.
Around them lay the remnants of their fallen kin — the twisted weapons, the broken harpoons left by warriors who would never wield them again.
Midi grunted and seized one of the massive harpoons, its head still stained with blackened blood.
Dilim mirrored him, gripping another shaft with white-knuckled fists.
They wouldn't return home empty-handed.
Not carrying these wounds.
Not wearing this shame.
If they couldn't erase their failure, they would forge a new legend atop it.
And the first step was clear — revenge.
The human had to fall, his bones made as a trophy.
Midi and Dilim moved first.
In perfect sync, they hurled their harpoons — massive shafts of steel tethered to heavy chains, both aimed squarely at Cain's small, defiant figure atop the golemite's shoulder.
Cain shifted his footing, but before the harpoons could even close the distance, the battlefield changed again.
Ragta wasn't standing idle.
He was already in motion, both barbed whips unfurling from his arms like living serpents.
But this time, he didn't charge alone.
The golemite, once always on the backfoot — now surging forward.
A full-bodied charge, low and brutal, stone feet pulverizing the earth beneath them.
Midi and Dilim saw it coming and wisely retreated, abandoning their anchored harpoons as they stumbled back, roaring in frustration.
Even Ragta's steps faltered for a breath.
Cain had signaled the golemite to fight at close quarters — to take that risk.
He was verse in most types of weapons both melee and range, even vases and cups were lethal tools in his hands — all thanks to Arthur's guidance.
The golemite learned that the shardling Cain had far superior capabilities when it comes to thinking — it chose the logical option of following the orders to the tee.
The golemite, now bolstered with broader, more robust limbs, swung with crushing force at Ragta.
The giant dodged easily — too experienced, too fast.
But the golemite wasn't finished.
Mid-swing, it pivoted, its entire waist rotating a full three-sixty degrees with mechanical violence.
Cain nearly lost his grip, fingers clinging tight into the crystalline notches of the golemite's plating as centrifugal force tried to hurl him into the air.
And then he saw it.
A hairline crack, small but unmistakable — splitting along the edge of Ragta's crystal armor where the golemite's wild spin had nicked him.
It was working.
Cain's eyes sharpened.
He knew his magic wouldn't pierce that armor. It was too dense, too layered against direct assault.
But he didn't need to break it with magic.
He drew one of his pistol devices, flipping the settings manually.
The laser tracer — a targeting light normally used to mark distant enemies.
Cain aimed not for the body, but for the eyes.
A bright, sharp beam lanced out, glinting with deadly precision.
He would blind the giant — in blindness, even gods will fall.
"La!"
(Fire!)
The golemite reacted instantly.
Both of its new, reinforced heavy guns it had grafted began glowing.
The mechanical rotation spun faster, the clicking of internal locks falling into a tight, rhythmic cadence — like the heartbeat of a war machine waking up.
Connected now to its upgraded mobility joints, the golemite didn't lurch or stagger anymore when shooting.
Instead, it tilted smoothly to the side, tracking like a predatory camera, its movement eerily precise.
But its target wasn't Ragta.
Cain didn't point at him — his hand lit up like an evil air traffic controller pointing which ones to shoot.
With a look, the golemite understood.
Sights locked onto the staggering forms of Midi and Dilim — both still trying to recover, blood crusting along their broken jaws, their faces already draining of color.