Ragta was always composed.
Even as chaos erupted around him, wait for the whirring clicks of the golemite's newly-forged gatling barrels to finish.
He knew, this was no longer a distraction — it was real danger.
Without hesitation, he circulated prana from deep within his core, forcing it through his muscles and into his palms with brutal efficiency.
Then, slamming his fists against the ground, he unleashed it.
The earth responded.
Two towering crystal pillars shot up in front of Midi and Dilim, hardening into gleaming walls just as the golemite's barrels opened fire.
The point of view narrowed — the gatling gun's mindless rotation continuing with mechanical brutality.
For seven relentless seconds, rounds poured out, hammering the crystal barriers with deafening impact.
The alloy was poor, unmeasured and improvised — but quantity beat quality.
Each second shaved more layers off the crystalline shields, spiderweb fractures running wild across their surfaces.
The pillars barely held, but for the now-steel creature this was a huge success.
It registered the damage, analyzed the effectiveness and immediately adjusted.
Without hesitation, it began reinforcing the barrels mid-firing cycle, compacting and hardening the metal at a molecular level, streamlining its next evolution.
And it didn't stop moving.
While Ragta knelt, still half-prostrated from his desperate defense, the golemite lunged.
It raised two of its new, massive arms — and slashed downward at Ragta's crystal armor with all the force it could muster.
The impact cracked through the battlefield like a cannon blast.
For a heartbeat, it seemed Ragta's armor would collapse under the sheer power, cracks haired along the surface.
Ragta's frame visibly thinned a little, his body forced from the sudden encounter.
Because prana could flow faster — but only by sacrificing vitality itself.
That was the price.
Ragta grimaced, but with a sharp breath and a twist of his will, he redirected prana back through the damaged armor.
The cracks sealed with a soft shimmer, the crystal reforging itself in patches, refusing to break.
He wasn't out yet — neither was Cain and his monstrous creation.
Ragta's eyes burned — not with pain, but fury.
He had never taken damage like this from a golemite.
Now, this mockery of a titan stood before him with a human perched on its shoulder, directing its evolution with precision and audacity.
With a roar that split the air, Ragta slammed his feet into the ground and channeled his rage into his barbed whips.
Prana surged down the length of the weapons like molten light, twisting and reshaping the segmented chains.
The metal groaned — then solidified.
The barbs flattened, curved, and lengthened, until both whips had become weapons of a far more terrifying form — twin black scythes.
Their blades were broad, gleaming with a metallic sheen and curved like crescent fangs.
Each edge gleamed with runic etchings, wickedly angled and shaped like the skull of a beast merged with a blade — just like the one Cain had seen in ancient illustrations of pre-war giant artifacts.
From his perch on the golemite's shoulder, Cain's breath caught.
Those aren't just weapons.
They were unique tools forged by the hands of true artisan.
Not ceremonial nor a mere decoration — it was designed for war, built to kill.
Cain's pistol devices, as refined and modular as they were, couldn't match the craftsmanship he saw now.
They were mass produced after all — built like training wheels for a newbie such as himself.
Cain immediately conjured magic, channeling it through the golemite's alloy.
A ripple of imperceptible energy surged across the twin blades grafted to the golemite's arms as his Fortification spell activated.
A protective sheen enveloped them — tight, reactive, and ready to hold against what came next.
A metallic clang echoed through the battlefield as the newly formed scythes met resistance in the air — heavy, precise, hungry for contact.
Cain narrowed his eyes, he knew what was coming.
And he knew now — Ragta wasn't playing anymore.
The moment the weapons met, the battlefield erupted.
Then came the flash.
A sudden explosion of heat and frost surged outward from the point of impact — shockwaves rippling through the dirt like invisible hammers.
Cain took cover immediately, shielding himself behind the golemite's massive frame as the blast scattered debris and smoke into the air.
The air screamed as elemental energy from the golemite clashed against the refined prana Ragta.
The fire-and-ice swords — one glowing with searing heat, the other chilled to a pale gleam.
Braced into Ragta's twin scythes with a violent, ringing shock.
Cain's Fortification spell surged across the golemite's blades, amplifying the durability with strengthening pulses — but even that layered enchantment buckled under the force.
When the dust settled, the result was clear.
The golemite's elemental swords were fractured — veins of damage running along their length like spiderwebs. Not destroyed, but wounded.
Meanwhile, Ragta's twin scythes stood pristine.
They never groaned during the impact — the weapons didn't just withstood the clash, it had dominated.
Cain's heart pounded — not in fear, but in cold recognition.
'These weapons were specifically designed for him... Which means—'
Ragta moved in again.
This time, there was no flourish — no heavy, sweeping arcs.
Instead, Ragta struck with brutal efficiency, his twin scythes zeroing in on the cracks already etched into the golemite's elemental swords.
He didn't need to overpower the blades. He just needed to finish the job.
The golemite, sensing the structural damage, initiated repairs mid-combat.
Alloy began to shift and flow across the blade's surface, guided by internal blueprints and instinctual memory.
But it was too much — the fight was too fast.
Every strike Ragta delivered sent violent tremors through the golemite's frame. Sparks flew. Metal groaned.
A shard of malformed alloy jutted awkwardly from one of the sword hilts — an error in reconstruction.
Not because the golemite lacked the energy to fix it.
But because it had never done this while blocking a hundred blows per minute.
It simply lacked the experience.
On the golemite's back, Cain gritted his teeth, watching the repairs fail in real time.
His mind raced — desperately trying to process the options.
'This is... this is too dangerous, should I retreat now? These are all just money, right? I can make more but...'
Every second bought now was earned in blood and fractured steel.
And they were running out of steel — fast.