Atlas realized that if he was going to bring Portilla and Crushir into battle, they needed to be armed to the teeth. He headed straight for the vending machines, determined to find the right gear. First stop: the Forgenator. After scanning the trolls again, he was relieved to find they could still wear armor without any major issues, sparing him from excessive costs. For a while, he'd let them wear those cute slime gambesons—while they provided a bit of impact and fire resistance, it wasn't enough for what was coming. He didn't want to see either of them seriously hurt or, worse, killed in the war ahead.
He browsed the available armors, keeping in mind their growing strength and size. Trolls had one glaring weakness: fire. But their regeneration and sheer power were well-known. The next priority was fire protection, but the Forgenator offered nothing. He checked the Miscellaneous by Mort machine too—still nothing.
“Hm,” Atlas muttered. “Guess we start with the armor, then.” Playing to their strengths, he decided on heavy armor. He paid for it—level two, the same as the Portal Crushirs’ main army—and inserted the mana coins.He picked out two full sets, complete with helmets that covered their heads. Sure, the armor wouldn't make them invincible, but it would help.
“Daddy, look! We look like warriors!” Portilla beamed, spinning around in her new gear.
“Fight strong. Fight tough,” Crushir echoed, clenching his fists. In their full armor, they no longer looked like trolls but oversized warriors, standing at six and a half, nearly seven feet tall.
Full-grown trolls reached about eight feet, and these two had been eating well ever since Atlas adopted them—much to the dismay of his wallet and his inner greedy beaver.
‘‘‘‘
Atlas said, “Well, guys, let's head out. We need you to get used to this armor. Let’s head to the fighting area.” He led them to the arena inside Fort Bone, a place that always stirred a mix of excitement in him. There, he saw Mohammad waiting for them.
Mohammad stepped forward, his expression guarded. “Atlas, have you thought more about letting me join the leadership?”
Atlas, paying the entry fee to Mohammad, nodded thoughtfully and rented out a private sparring area. “Mohammad, we definitely are still thinking about it. Don’t worry,” Atlas replied, sensing Mohammad’s tension. “How are your two friends doing? Have they created businesses yet?”
Mohammad’s face reddened slightly, his usual confidence flickering. His friends hadn’t made any remarkable moves, and the weight of that reality showed. “We’re working on it,” he muttered, eyes showing his embarrassment.
Atlas gave him a reassuring smile, though a bit of amused understanding crept into his gaze. “Well, let me know when you have something on the books. We can always use another voice on the council that has good intentions for Fort Bone.”
‘Good intentions for me‘, Mohammad thought, a hint of slyness tugging at the corner of his lips. “Definitely, Atlas,” he said, managing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
***
Inside the fighting arena, Atlas turned to the trolls. “All right, guys, let’s see what you can do with this armor,” he said, his voice a little more stern now, like a father watching his children step into something far more serious.
Portilla and Crushir, eager to prove themselves, grabbed their clubs and squared off with Atlas. The intensity in their faces showed they weren’t holding back. Normally, a human taking on two teenage trolls would’ve ended in disaster, but Atlas barely broke a sweat, sidestepping their blows and countering with ease.
Within moments, Portilla and Crushir were lying on the floor, panting heavily, defeated. Atlas watched them with a mix of pride and relief. He had obviously held back from using any fire-based attacks, knowing their regeneration would kick in for physical attacks, but still... seeing them so vulnerable gnawed at his gut.
“Daddy, you strong,” Portilla said between breaths, her voice filled with awe.
Atlas chuckled softly, a shadow of something more complicated flickering in his eyes. “I’ve got lots of experience, dear, lots and lots... maybe too much.”
As Portilla and Crushir lay there, their eyes wide with admiration, it warmed him, but also sent a pang through his heart. He knew they looked up to him, craved his strength.
Trolls always admired strength.
‘‘‘
After the sparring, Atlas felt a pang of annoyance as he surveyed the state of the trolls’ brand-new armor. "Why do I always have to go so hard?" he muttered to himself. The gear was already beat up, and they hadn’t even faced real combat yet. "Alright, let’s get this repaired." He had Portilla and Crushir remove their armor, once again down to their basic slime gambesons, and led them to the crafters for repairs. Sure, he could have used the Forgetron, but the crafters had been doing a solid job, and their nascent blacksmith industry was thriving. Fixing armor had become their bread and butter.
While their armor was being handled, Atlas noticed ‘Hex in the City‘ was right next door. “You guys wait here, okay?” he told Portilla and Crushir. "Be good." Both trolls nodded enthusiastically and plopped down on the floor of the blacksmith’s armory, content to hang out.
Atlas walked into ‘Hex in the City‘, planning to stock up on healing potions and aloe vera burn gel. The shopkeeper, a young witch from the Coven Clique, greeted him cheerily.
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“Oh, hi, Atlas!” she said brightly. He couldn’t recall her name. The Coven had been steadily growing, more members joining for the promise of sisterhood. As he paid for the burn cream and started to leave, the witch piped up, “Hey, I see you’re buying burn cream. We’ve actually come up with a new potion that increases flame resistance.”
Atlas froze mid-step, turning like a cat who just spotted a cucumber. "Really? Why didn’t I think of that," he mused aloud. The witches had been working hard crafting new potions. "Tell me more. What else have you guys come up with regarding fire protection?"
The young witch’s excitement was palpable. Every sale meant more commission, and she was saving up for a private house. "Well, besides the aloe vera gel, we now have an aloe vera potion. It uses some...proprietary stuff, but it increases flame resistance by about 20%."
Atlas perked up. "Great! How long do these potions last?"
The witch looked a bit sheepish. “Uh, about 20 minutes.”
Atlas nodded. “That’s decent. How much are they?”
“Only three coins each.”
Atlas quickly purchased twenty of them. “Is there anything else?” he asked, hoping for even more options.
“Well…” the witch hesitated, clearly excited but cautious. “We’ve been working on something else. It’s not exactly...ready yet.”
Atlas raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?” His skeptical look made him appear like a bureaucrat inspecting suspicious grain.
“Well, it’s supposed to increase flame resistance beyond 20%. So far, it’s worked—up to 50%—but there’s a slight issue.”
Atlas crossed his arms. “What kind of issue?”
The witch stammered, “It’s, um, toxic.” She looked down, clearly embarrassed.
Atlas blinked, confused. “What do you mean ‘toxic‘? Why would you make a toxic potion?”
“Well, it’s the ingredients. They’re, uh, a secret. But this potion doesn’t just cause diarrhea like the one you just bought.”
Atlas froze. “Wait, what? The potion I just bought twenty of, causes diarrhea?”
The witch flushed red. “It doesn’t happen to everyone. There’s a warning label on the bottle,” she said, pointing.
Sure enough, Atlas spotted tiny stickers on the bottles that read, “May cause diarrhea.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And this new one is ‘worse‘?”
The witch gave a long, drawn-out “Yessss.”
“What does it do, exactly?”
She squirmed under his gaze. “It increases flame resistance to 50%, but it, um, starts dissolving your insides. Like ulcers, really painful ones. None of the fighters could keep going after taking it.”
Atlas ran a hand through his hair. “And you thought that would be a good idea? I can see how having your stomach eaten away while you’re fighting would be... inconvenient.”
The witch quickly defended the potion. “But the ulcers go away once the potion’s effects wear off!”
Atlas shook his head. “Sure, but you still can’t fight while your guts are being eaten alive.”
She sighed, deflated. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”
“How much are you selling these for?” he asked, surprising her.
Her eyes lit up. ‘Is he actually going to buy them?‘ “But you can’t fight while drinking them, Atlas. You’re our leader! If you’re incapacitated during a fight, that would be... bad. For Fort Bone.” She was also trying hard not to call him an idiot.
Atlas waved her off. “Don’t worry about that. How many of these failed potions do you have?”
She hesitated. “We’ve got about a hundred of them.”
Atlas raised an eyebrow. “You made a hundred prototypes before you realized it was a bad idea?”
She nodded sheepishly. “Yeah… not our best moment.”
Atlas grinned. “How about I give you thirty coins and buy all of them?”
Her face lit up. “Deal!” she said, barely containing her excitement. Meanwhile, Atlas was thinking, ‘You know who can regenerate? My trolls can. This’ll work perfectly.‘ He left the shop with a satisfied grin, knowing his plan to turn Portilla and Crushir into unstoppable fire-resistant warriors was nearly complete. The potion of greater flame resistance was the pièce de résistance.
***
John and Lark were walking home when a sudden uproar caught their attention. Mini fairies, no larger than a soda can, were circling the vending machine area like caffeinated mosquitoes, yelling, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Their high-pitched voices were impossible to ignore.
“Looks like there’s a brawl,” John said, gesturing to the growing commotion.
Lark raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t the guards handle that?”
John shrugged. “We’re practically right here. Besides, it’s not every day you see a vending machine showdown.”
As they approached, the scene came into focus—or rather, chaos. Several people were mid-wrestle near the vending machines, yelling about something completely absurd.
“Is that a fight… over Slime gambesons?” John squinted. “Seriously? I didn’t think they were that popular.”
“They aren’t,” Lark said. “Unless you’re trying to get geared in a hurry.”
Still, the scuffle didn’t seem to be dying down. “The guards should be here any second,” Lark added, clearly ready to keep walking.
“Eh, I got this,” John said, rolling up his sleeves.
“Do you, though?” Lark asked, half-skeptical, half-amused.
Without answering, John strode forward like a man on a mission—or, in this case, an unpaid referee.
“Break it up!”
He grabbed the first two combatants and effortlessly separated them like they were fighting over the last chicken wing. With a flick of his wrists, he sent both sprawling into the walls behind him.
CRUNK! CRUNK!
The sound echoed dramatically, and the remaining fighters froze mid-grapple. John turned his attention to them. “Don’t make me ask twice,” he said, his voice calm but with the kind of authority that could silence a room.
The two others didn’t even try to fight back. With comical precision, John scooped them up and added them to the human pile of poor decisions he was building.
“Now,” John said, brushing imaginary dust off his hands, “what’s the problem here?”
The first guy, red-faced and still flustered, pointed accusingly. “This jerk cut in line! I was next for the Slime gambeson!”
“Liar!” the second guy shot back. “We were here first! Just came back from the bathroom!”
John pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “You’re telling me all this mess is because of this?” He jabbed a thumb at the vending machine like it personally offended him.
“It’s the principle of the thing! Nobody cuts in front of me!” the first guy yelled.
“Fucking dumbasses,” John muttered. “Listen, folks, I get that you’re excited, but we have one rule here in Fort Bone: don’t be idiots. If I catch you fighting again, you’re out. Also, you’ll still pay the two mana coin fine. Got it?”
The first guy looked ready to argue but was silenced by his friend elbowing him hard. “Dude, that’s John. You know, THE John. He runs this place.”
“Oh.” The guy’s face turned the same color as the slime green gambeson he wanted. “Uh, sorry.”
The crowd dispersed, and gossip immediately followed.
One spectator leaned toward their friend. “Wait, isn’t John just an administrator? When did he become so… terrifying?”
“I don’t know,” the friend whispered. “Maybe he’s secretly been lifting vending machines for fun.”
Meanwhile, Lark was watching John with a mix of amusement and confusion. “When exactly did you get that strong?” she asked.
“Gene boost potion baby,” John said with an evil dead grin. “Best present ever.”
Lark smirked. “Let’s test that strength at home.” She gave him a wink that could have melted steel.
Without hesitation, John swept her into his arms. “Gladly.” He turned and carried her off, leaving the vending machines—and his impromptu pile of defeated shoppers—in his wake.
As they disappeared into the distance, one fairy said, “Let’s follow John! He’s got candy!”
The other mini faeries flew happily behind the couple.
“Candy! Candy! Candy!”