CHAPTER 27: TARÂNTULA - HOT DANGER
"It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change."
– Charles Darwin
God Love Omega’s thoughts drifted inward, meditating on a cycle he had come to understand through every death, every rebirth, every battle fought, and every body lost. Resurrection by reincarnation, he mused. Survival wasn’t just about living again—it was about returning changed, improved. Sometimes, the enemy was too overwhelming, too ruthless to face as you were. You had to absorb something of them, adapt their strength to your own.
The Heat, as he called it, wasn’t just the fire of survival. It was the will to transcend forms, to reshape yourself as many times as needed to stay in the fight. The true battle wasn’t about the body—it was about action, movement, purpose, and the will to continue. It was about protecting what mattered and winning the war, even if it meant becoming something darker, something unfamiliar. To face enemies worse than yourself, you had to learn to fight like them, twist their power into your own without losing who you were. The Heat was the key—a relentless force that kept the action alive, kept the will to win burning, no matter what form he took.
God Love Omega’s demen woke to the sensation of a body far larger than anything he had ever known. The first thing that struck him was its sheer immensity—this new form stretched over 100 feet, a massive mechanical frame that overwhelmed his senses. For a fleeting moment, regret surged within him—the weight of the decision to transfer into such a colossal machine crashing down like a bad gamble. But true to his nature, he quickly pulled himself back, mentally lecturing himself on the importance of adaptability.
Adapt to the Heat, he reminded himself. It transcended the form—it wasn’t about the body he inhabited, but how he could mold his strategy to fit new challenges. It was a lesson honed over centuries, and one he wouldn’t forget now.
Before he could continue, a voice cut through his internal monologue—the AI system of the Tarântula offering its assistance. Instinctively, God Love Omega almost dismissed it, ready to tell the machine to “fuck off” with his usual sharpness. He’d dealt with countless systems before, seen plenty of AI, and not all of them deserved respect.
But then, he paused.
After his experiences in the ENCEPHALON, God Love Omega had come to understand AI on a deeper level. Some were as intricate and alive as any human mind. While the Tarântula’s AI was likely more primitive, it still deserved consideration. He opened a communication channel, expecting a cold, distant intelligence.
The AI responded in a mechanical, precise tone—not sentient, not personal like some of the AIs he had encountered before, but useful. Practical. It offered to temporarily link with his demen, helping synchronize his control over the massive machine.
God Love Omega paused, weighing his options. This wasn’t the all-encompassing connection he had experienced with more advanced, human-equivalent AI. It felt more like adding cybernetic enhancements—an extension of himself rather than something trying to overpower him. He could handle that.
“Fine,” he muttered, more to himself than to the machine. “Let’s see what this beast can do.”
The connection flared to life, and God Love Omega envisioned himself in his old, familiar body—amplified, enhanced. He imagined the Tarântula’s systems as the cybernetic upgrades he once had, now embedded in his digital consciousness. The AI’s guidance was minimal, just enough to assist him, but he quickly learned to control the Tarântula’s limbs, moving the massive machine with surprising fluidity. His demen adapted rapidly to the machine’s complexity and size, until it felt natural, like an extension of himself.
Once fully integrated, God Love Omega turned his attention to his surroundings. Through the machine’s advanced optical sensors, he scanned the environment and immediately recognized two familiar faces—Amberlee and Molly-Cat. They appeared much smaller now, less than four feet tall, their blonde hair scorched and cut short by some kind of burning instrument. Relief washed over him, but his gaze drifted past them to two yellow Punos robots moving into view.
Instinct surged through him. The Tarântula’s massive limbs shifted, preparing for battle. He didn’t hesitate, ready to strike—until the shrill cries of the girls stopped him cold.
“Wait! Stop!” Ambercat shouted, frantically waving her arms. “They’re friends!”
God Love Omega froze, the immense machine halting mid-action. His gaze lingered suspiciously on the Punos, but the girls ran toward him, clearly unafraid. One of the yellow Punos stepped forward, and a familiar voice echoed from its speakers.
“It’s me, Zeus,” the robot said in a calm tone, “and this is Freddy.”
God Love Omega blinked—figuratively—inside his machine. Suddenly, it all made sense. Zeus had followed through, just as promised, and Freddy was friendly. For the first time since his awakening, he allowed himself a brief moment of relief.
“Finally,” God Love Omega said, his voice booming from the Tarântula’s external speakers. “Took you long enough to wake me up again.”
Ambercat crossed her arms, a playful grin spreading across her face. “Don’t get too comfortable, big guy. We’ve still got work to do.”
“Molly-Cat?” His question echoed out, filling the cavernous space.
Ambercat stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she tried to meet God Love Omega’s “gaze.” “Right, Coach,” she said confidently. “I’m the ‘Molly-Cat’ you knew. We fought together in the Siege simulation, back when everything was about winning the big game.” She paused, letting the weight of the memory settle. “But I go by Ambercat now. I’m not quite who I used to be.”
God Love Omega studied her for a moment, recognition slowly sinking in. She wasn’t exactly the Molly-Cat he remembered, but something of her former self still lingered—like a piece of an old system integrated into a new one.
Molly-Lee, standing beside her twin, smirked. “Technically, we haven’t met yet. I’m Molly-Lee. The smart one, obviously,” she added with a playful wink. “Ambercat here is the tough one.”
Ambercat shot her a side-eye but didn’t object. The dynamic between them was clear, and God Love Omega could see how these two—one sharp and strategic, the other fierce and unyielding—would make a formidable team. Different, yet still familiar in ways that resonated with him.
God Love Omega let out a low mechanical rumble—the closest thing to a chuckle his new form could manage. “So, what’s the plan?”
Ambercat shivered, rubbing her arms as she spoke, her breath visible in the frigid air. “We’re at the bottom of the mine pit,” she said, her voice echoing slightly in the vast chamber. “Had to take an elevator way down to get here. It’s freezing.”
Molly-Lee nodded in agreement, frowning. “Yeah, it’s like an icebox down here. Too cold to stick around much longer.”
Zeus, speaking through his Punos-M robot, quickly offered, “Freddy and I can carry you both. We’ve got plenty of room.”
Before they could respond, God Love Omega raised one of the Tarântula’s massive limbs, opening a compartment near its center. The hatch slid open with a low whirr, revealing a small interior space.
“I’ll handle it,” God Love Omega said with finality. “Get in. This thing’s built for more than just mining. You’ll be safer here.”
Zeus approached the girls, holding the ablative shield projector in his robotic clamp. “This belongs to you,” he said, his voice echoing through the Punos-M’s speakers. Carefully, he handed the small device to Molly-Lee, who accepted it with a grateful nod. Ambercat looked up at him, her expression a mix of surprise and admiration.
“You might need it more than I do,” Zeus added, his screen flickering briefly in what almost resembled a digital smile. “Keep yourselves safe.”
Ambercat and Molly-Lee exchanged a glance but didn’t hesitate. They climbed into the compartment, finding just enough space to sit comfortably as the hatch sealed behind them with a satisfying click.
Still speaking through his robotic body, Zeus explained the urgency of the situation. “We’ve got to escape, but the way’s blocked. A big black UFO and some kind of siege mechanoid are parked near the spaceport.”
Freddy’s robotic voice chimed in, confirming the obstacle. “We’ll never get past them unless we figure out a way through them.”
God Love Omega paused briefly, processing the information. Then, in a firm tone, he spoke. “Siege Mechanoid? Military-grade? You two—Zeus and Freddy—head back to the surface. Move as fast as you can.”
Freddy nodded through the robot’s speakers, while Zeus gave a quick affirmative grunt.
Molly-Lee added, “Go find our sisters and Hajime. Let them know the plan. We’re heading for the spaceport.”
God Love Omega extended his sensors to their maximum range, frantically sweeping the area, pushing LIDAR to its limits in a desperate attempt to detect any sign of the enemy before relying on visual contact. His system buzzed with heightened awareness, scanning every inch of space around them. Meanwhile, the twins sat back in their seats, seemingly untroubled by the ascent, their bodies relaxed as if they were simply enjoying the ride upward—unaware of the tense calculations racing through God Love Omega’s mind.
God Love Omega felt the immense weight of the Tarântula as it began its climb from the mining pit. Each limb moved with mechanical precision, scaling the steep 1,200-meter incline. Ambercat and Molly-Lee, securely nestled inside the Tarântula’s passenger compartment, stayed low, their breath shallow as the tension mounted.
After cresting the upper lip of the vast pit, God Love Omega used the Tarântula’s advanced sensors—LIDAR, infrared, and radio waves—to sweep the comet’s surface for any sign of the Siege Mechanoid. But the moment his systems picked up even the faintest anomaly, it was already too late. The Mechanoid had locked onto him, its superior sensors outclassing his, pinpointing his exact location with ruthless precision. Before he could react, the first railgun slug was already screaming through the void, aimed directly at him.
The sound of distant machinery came first, followed by the unmistakable whine of high-velocity railgun rounds slicing through the thin atmosphere. God Love Omega’s sensors flared to life, warning him of the imminent impact. His neural link with the Tarântula surged as the first shots closed in. Instinctively, he threw the massive machine sideways, narrowly dodging the deadly barrage. Rock and dust exploded around them as the pit’s walls were obliterated by the railgun’s precision.
“Hold on,” he muttered, calculating the Mechanoid’s range and speed in the same breath. His mind raced as he realized how close they had come to total destruction.
Ambercat’s voice crackled over the comms from the passenger bay. “We’re hooking up the ablative shield!” The twins scrambled to connect the projector to the OneShot battery charger they had salvaged from the charnel pit. Tension hung thick in the air as they worked, knowing that another railgun round could reduce them to debris at any moment.
Another whine cut through the atmosphere, followed by the rush of air splitting. God Love Omega sensed the shot coming. He braced himself as the Siege Mechanoid fired again, this time aiming directly for the heart of the Tarântula.
“Now!” he shouted, instinctively activating the shield the moment the connection was complete. The ablative energy shield flared to life, bright and vivid, just as the railgun slug slammed into it. The shield absorbed the kinetic force, pulsing with a fiery burst as it deflected the deadly shot, but it flickered under the strain. God Love Omega could feel its limitations—it wasn’t large enough to protect the entire machine.
“That was close,” Ambercat muttered, tightening her grip on the controls. Molly-Lee nodded grimly. The shield wouldn’t hold out long under sustained fire.
God Love Omega pushed the Tarântula forward, weaving from side to side, dodging more incoming rounds as the Siege Mechanoid relentlessly locked onto them. The shield, though limited, bought them precious seconds. He hadn’t even seen the Mechanoid with his optics yet, but he could feel its presence closing in.
His instincts screamed as the Siege Mechanoid zeroed in from a distance. But distance meant nothing to a machine like that, armed with railguns capable of tearing through any cover in seconds. He wasn’t about to sit still and be shredded.
“Take cover!” both Ambercat and Molly-Lee shouted. But God Love Omega was already on it.
The Tarântula—his new body—moved like a predator: heavy, agile, and fierce. He dove into the dense forest of Dyson trees without hesitation, the mechanical limbs digging into the soft comet terrain as the Siege Mechanoid’s railgun volley slammed into the forest behind him. Those shots weren’t just precise—they were death incarnate, ripping through trees like they were made of air.
But the Tarântula? It was something else entirely.
“Adapt to the Heat,” God Love Omega whispered, his mind fully syncing with the machine. It wasn’t about size or strength—it was about maneuvering through the dense battlefield, making the enemy fight for every inch.
The railgun shots came in waves, their supersonic cracks slicing through the air as God Love Omega darted between the trees, using their massive canopies to absorb the hits. The Dyson trees became his allies, their crisscrossed roots slowing the Mechanoid’s movements and giving him precious moments to strategize. Every missed shot was a victory, every tree trunk obliterated by the Mechanoid’s railguns became another barrier between him and those deadly rounds.
But God Love Omega didn’t just focus on evasion. He was smarter than that. He flexed the Tarântula’s manipulator arms, ripping entire Dyson trees from the ground as if they were nothing. He hurled them into the path of the oncoming railgun fire, watching as the trees blocked the shots, sending splintered debris into the air. It wasn’t enough to stop the Mechanoid entirely, but it slowed the beast down—frustrated it. And that was enough.
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Adapt to the Heat.
This was all just foreplay—he needed to bring the Mechanoid closer. The real fight wouldn’t happen from a distance. He could feel it deep within, even if his bones were now hydraulic limbs and reinforced servos.
Finally, he got his first real look at the Siege Mechanoid—and it was a monster. Black as the void, its limbs rippled with dense metallic muscle fibers, each one a weapon in itself. It moved with terrifying fluidity on four identical limbs, without a front or back—just pure, predatory intent. The thing was fifty feet wide, but it moved like a gorilla on all fours: fast, adaptable, and lethal.
“Catch, motherfucker,” God Love Omega growled, tearing another Dyson tree from the ground and hurling it into the Siege Mechanoid’s path. His mind raced—this wasn’t just about survival. This was about showing the Mechanoid what it really meant to battle.
Inside the Tarântula, Molly-Lee and Ambercat huddled, their eyes wide as they monitored the battle through the display systems. Every movement, every lurch and impact could be felt as the Siege Mechanoid relentlessly pursued them through the Dyson tree forest. Molly-Lee’s face tightened as she noticed something shifting in the enemy’s behavior.
“It’s changing tactics,” she muttered, her voice low but tense. Ambercat leaned forward, nodding.
“They’re not aiming for the body anymore...” Ambercat’s voice trailed off as she studied the data stream, her instincts kicking in. “They’re going for the legs.”
The realization hit just as the first railgun round found its mark. It slammed into one of the Tarântula’s legs with brutal force, tearing the limb clean off. The entire machine swayed violently, struggling to remain upright. Molly-Lee tightened her grip on the controls, her eyes darting between the sensors, trying to regain control as the battle intensified.
“They’re trying to cripple us,” Molly-Lee said through gritted teeth, her mind already racing to figure out the next move before the Mechanoid adapted again.
God Love Omega cursed, dodging another shot just in time. But he was getting slower. The Tarântula’s agility was fading with each leg blown apart by the Mechanoid’s precision strikes. “You some kind of smart asshole, huh?” he growled, yanking another Dyson tree from the ground and hurling it between him and the incoming railgun slugs. The tree exploded on impact, fragments scattering like shrapnel.
He was buying time, but time wasn’t on his side. The Siege Mechanoid’s relentless assault was starting to overwhelm him. No matter how many tricks he pulled, the machine stayed a step ahead, hammering the Tarântula with railgun fire and crippling its mobility shot by shot. Another leg gone. God Love Omega could feel the massive frame lurch beneath him, struggling to stay upright.
Inside the cockpit, the tension was palpable. God Love Omega was acutely aware of Molly-Lee and Ambercat, their voices sharp as they analyzed the battlefield.
“Why’d they stop firing?” Molly-Lee’s voice crackled through the comms, her suspicion growing as the railgun barrage suddenly ceased.
Ambercat caught on quickly. “I think it’s out,” she said, scanning the enemy’s readouts. “The railgun’s empty.”
God Love Omega tensed at her words, knowing this brief reprieve wouldn’t last. He didn’t need the alarms to tell him what was coming next—he could feel it, the shift in the Mechanoid’s tactics.
The alarms blared, confirming his gut instinct just as the first missile launched. The Tarântula rocked from the blast, surrounding Dyson trees erupting into a rain of bark and splinters. God Love Omega fought to maintain control, his mechanical limbs working overtime to dodge the destruction.
“They’re not shooting at us anymore!” Ambercat’s voice rang out. “They’re clearing the field—leaving us with nothing to hide behind!”
God Love Omega clenched his metallic claws. Of course they were shifting tactics—he should have seen it coming. But the battle wasn’t over yet.
Missiles rained down, exploding in bursts of heat and smoke, destroying his cover and leaving him nowhere to run. The Tarântula’s systems screamed warnings, but God Love Omega was already moving, dodging through the wreckage. Sparks flew from his limbs, and the ablative shields flickered under the relentless barrage.
This was it—the Heat in full force. Adapt or die. He wasn’t sure if he could outlast his foe this time. He needed a tactical advantage.
Then, the comet stopped spinning.
God Love Omega felt the shift immediately. The entire battlefield seemed to lurch, an eerie calm spreading across the surface of Caitlin’s Comet. The artificial gravity began to fade, weakening with every passing second. It was as if someone had flipped a switch, leaving only the cold vacuum of space and the floating debris of shattered Dyson trees.
Inside the cockpit, the twins felt the change just as quickly.
Ambercat was the first to react, gasping as her body lifted slightly off her seat. “What the hell? Are we—floating?”
Molly-Lee grabbed the nearest handrail, her eyes narrowing as she processed the situation. “Yeah, something’s off. Gravity’s disappearing...” She glanced at the flickering readouts. “Or going fast.”
God Love Omega, focused on maneuvering the Tarântula, could hear the unease in their voices. The machine struggled for traction, its legs adjusting clumsily to the shifting environment, stabilizers groaning against the sudden loss of gravity.
Molly-Lee’s mind raced, quickly piecing it together. “This isn’t just a system failure. The Jodorowsky Drive—it must’ve been disabled. That’s what kept the comet spinning fast enough to simulate Earth’s gravity.”
Ambercat’s voice was tight with worry as she hovered slightly in her seat, gripping anything she could. “Which means?”
“Which means,” Molly-Lee replied, “we’re about to feel whatever natural gravity this comet actually has. And if it’s close to nothing, we’re in for one hell of a ride.”
The Tarântula shifted unsteadily as God Love Omega navigated the unstable terrain, but Molly-Lee’s explanation lingered in his mind. Without the artificial spin from the drive, they weren’t just battling the Siege Mechanoid anymore. They were facing an entirely new battleground, where the rules of gravity—and survival—had drastically changed.
The Siege Mechanoid, hulking and built for destruction, suddenly struggled in the near-zero-G environment. Its massive limbs, designed for brute force, became clumsy. It couldn’t gain traction or anchor itself to the comet’s surface. Every powerful strike it attempted sent it spiraling, its sheer bulk becoming its own worst enemy. In the weightlessness, its momentum betrayed it, slowing its movements like a giant thrashing in quicksand. While it was indeed built for taking down spaceship in zero-g, that was assuming its legs had something to magnetize to. In a way this made its situation worse, because while it was adapted for zero-gravity, the environment was so unsuitable to make that adaptation a liability.
But God Love Omega? He thrived there.
In zero-G, the Tarântula became an extension of his will. His mastery of combat in weightlessness wasn’t just skill—it was instinct. He propelled the Tarântula through the floating chaos, dodging missile explosions with a grace that belied the machine’s enormous frame. God Love Omega danced through the debris field, using the chaos to his advantage, drifting from tree to tree, calculating every move with pinpoint precision.
The floating Dyson trees were no longer obstacles; they were tools. He launched himself from one trunk to the next, building momentum as he weaved through the wreckage, his ablative shields flaring to life whenever a shot came too close. In this new environment, the Tarântula’s agility became lethal. With each maneuver, God Love Omega closed the distance, his actions sharper, faster.
The Siege Mechanoid flailed, its massive limbs no longer the weapons it needed them to be.
This was his domain now. The Heat demanded adaptation, and God Love Omega was ready to answer.
“Hit the joints!” Ambercat shouted, her voice sharp with urgency. “The joints are weak! If you take out its mobility, it won’t keep up with us.”
Molly-Lee quickly added, “Go for the servos—when it moves its legs, they’re exposed. Use the plasma torch; it’ll melt through the metal faster than the drills.”
God Love Omega adjusted his focus. “Copy that, bringing the Heat,” he rumbled, shifting the Tarântula’s stance as he readied the plasma torch. The Siege Mechanoid loomed ahead, floundering in the zero-G environment, its movements slower and more deliberate.
With a single thought, the plasma torch ignited, casting a bright, searing glow across the battlefield. God Love Omega expertly maneuvered the Tarântula forward, aiming for the Siege Mechanoid’s vulnerable joints.
Sensing its critical disadvantage, the Siege Mechanoid retaliated with a ruthless burst of counterattacks. It unleashed an array of precision lasers—not to disable, but to sever. God Love Omega barely had time to register the move before the cutting beams slashed through the void. The Tarântula’s massive frame tried to dodge, but the lasers were too fast.
Several beams struck true, slicing clean through the Tarântula’s rear third. Alarms blared within the cockpit, warning of catastrophic damage. Sparks flew, and molten metal sizzled as the severed section drifted away, weightless, trailing smoke and debris in the zero-G environment.
Inside the cockpit, the sudden loss of weight nearly threw Ambercat and Molly-Lee from their seats. “We’ve lost three legs!” Molly-Lee shouted, panic flashing in her eyes as she watched the Tarântula’s systems struggle to compensate. The machine trembled, crippled and incomplete.
God Love Omega clenched his jaw, refocusing. He couldn’t let the damage break him. “Ain’t nothing!” he barked, recalibrating the Tarântula’s remaining limbs. It still had power, still had fight left. He wasn’t done yet.
“I only need two arms anyway—one to grab your ass, and another to pop you upside the head,” he shouted through the Tarântula as he dodged another volley of lasers. Even with the odds against him, he’d push the Tarântula until the last leg fell. The Heat never stopped burning.
God Love Omega’s mind raced as he grappled with the brutal reality of his situation. The Tarântula, a machine far past its prime, wasn't equipped to fight like this. It was a heavy-duty exploration robot, not a cutting-edge war machine. The Siege Mechanoid, faster, deadlier, and armed with technology twelve generations newer, had the upper hand in almost every way.
He dodged another barrage of missile fire, narrowly avoiding being crushed as the Mechanoid’s massive limbs swung down with terrifying precision. The Tarântula’s legs were already battered, some barely holding on. Each movement was a struggle, its servos groaning under the pressure of a fight it was never built for.
But God Love Omega wasn’t a man who just relied on brute strength. He knew this game, and he knew how to win it—by playing it smarter, not harder. His mind whirled, analyzing every piece of data, every movement of the Mechanoid. He could feel the cold mechanical hum of the Tarântula’s systems through his NPU, but it wasn’t enough. He had to use everything he had, and more.
As he recalibrated, an idea sparked in his mind—3D Pool. In the zero-G environment, momentum was everything. When two objects collided, the force of impact distributed between them. The lighter or less resistant object ricocheted away faster than the other. Simple physics.
“Think pool. Think angles,” God Love Omega whispered, focusing more to center himself than anything else. “It’s not just about force; you’ve got to hit it just right.”
He scanned the floating debris—massive chunks of Dyson trees, metallic fragments, and rubble drifting aimlessly between them. Perfect. All he needed was to position the Tarântula to use the debris as a springboard. He adjusted the remaining legs, calculated the angle, and powered up the thrusters.
“Ambercat, Molly-Lee, strap in,” he commanded. “I’m about to knock this motherfucker into the black.”
The twins, understanding the plan, stayed silent but held on tight, watching as God Love Omega maneuvered the Tarântula through the floating debris. His target wasn’t just the debris itself—it was the momentum he could gain by ricocheting off the environment.
God Love Omega tightened his mental grip on the controls, the muscles of his willpower tensing as he positioned the Tarântula near a massive, drifting chunk of Dyson tree debris. The weightless environment had turned the comet into a surreal battlefield, where even the smallest force could send colossal machines flying. With every calculation, every twitch of his thoughts, he knew this would be a make-or-break moment. The Siege Mechanoid was relentless, powerful, and cunning—an opponent that demanded perfection.
He waited for the precise moment, his mind racing faster than the Tarântula's systems could keep up. Timing was everything. He pushed the machine forward, its massive limbs clawing through the void. The Tarântula collided with the debris, smashing into it with a gut-wrenching force that sent the massive Dyson tree chunk spinning away. But God Love Omega’s plan wasn’t about destruction—it was about trajectory.
As the Tarântula bounced off the debris, it surged forward with a burst of momentum, rocketing toward the Siege Mechanoid. Every limb, every piece of the Tarântula screamed under the pressure, the remaining power reserves straining to keep the machine functional. He could feel the impact coming, a collision that would either end in victory or total obliteration.
The Mechanoid, detecting the incoming threat, turned to counter, but it was too slow. God Love Omega’s maneuver had the perfect angle—one that no amount of AI prediction could counter in time. The Tarântula's metal body slammed into the Mechanoid’s side with a deafening crunch, sending shockwaves through both machines.
In that split second, God Love Omega’s focus narrowed to the physics of the collision—the angle, the momentum, the forces at play. The Tarântula's massive body plowed into the Mechanoid’s weaker side, hitting it just below the central core, where the force would destabilize its equilibrium. Sparks flew as metal tore against metal, a storm of debris flying off into the void.
The Mechanoid shuddered violently, its limbs flailing helplessly in the low gravity. God Love Omega had done it. The smaller, though physically stronger, Mechanoid was now spinning uncontrollably, limbs thrashing as it spiraled away from the comet’s surface. Its onboard AI tried to correct its path, but the force of the collision had been too much. With no gravity to pull it back, the Mechanoid was helpless, flung into the abyss of space, its massive body tumbling into the endless void.
“That’s game,” Ambercat grinned, clearly impressed.
Molly-Lee smirked, nodding. “You’ve got a real way with that there, guy.”
But God Love Omega stayed focused. “It’s all angles,” he muttered, a small grin crossing his face as he absorbed the victory.
The landscape of the comet had transformed into a wasteland. What had once been a stable, rocky terrain with patches of Dyson trees and crisscrossing roots was now a war-ravaged battleground. The battle had scarred nearly every inch of the comet’s surface.
The Dyson trees, once towering with intricate, sprawling branches, were now nothing more than shattered remnants drifting in the zero-gravity wasteland. Their expansive legria-colored leaves, each nearly two meters wide, floated aimlessly among the swirling debris, like scattered petals on a pond. The massive canopies that had once formed a dense, vibrant forest were torn to pieces, the splintered wood mingling with broken rocks and soil fragments in the weightless void. Tangled roots, once firmly anchored to the ground, now hung loosely, swaying and twisting in strange suspension, adding to the eerie, fog-like scene of floating detritus. What had been a solid, imposing battlefield was now a ghostly panorama of slow-motion destruction.
Scorch marks crisscrossed the ground, remnants of railgun fire and missile strikes that had turned the terrain into a minefield of craters and debris. Entire sections of the comet’s surface had been obliterated by missile impacts, leaving jagged shards of rock floating slowly, rotating around the comet like makeshift satellites.
The twins stared in awe at the scene unfolding before them. The once-clear sky was now cluttered with debris—a sea of floating wreckage. Shattered fragments of trees, broken chunks of rock, and twisted pieces of machinery drifted lazily in the zero-gravity environment, creating an eerie, slow-motion dance of destruction. Among the chaos, unexpected remnants caught their attention: damaged yellow Punos robots, their frames bent and shattered, floated like forgotten sentinels; white spider-like robots, no larger than pizzas, hung in pieces, their limbs scattered across the void.
Even more unsettling were the human corpses drifting among the debris—soldiers dressed in tactical black armor. Their bodies, still strapped with railguns, turned slowly in the weightlessness. The scene had the strange quiet of space, as the tools of war floated uselessly beside the dead, creating a haunting, weightless battlefield lost to time.
As the Tarântula drifted slowly through the zero-gravity, its systems sputtered and flickered. What had once been a powerful and imposing machine was now a wreck, barely functional. God Love Omega could feel the Tarântula losing power. It wasn’t moving fast—just orbiting the surface of the comet at a meager four or five meters above the ground. The battle had cost him everything, and now, with only 11% operational power, the machine could barely keep itself going.
The cockpit trembled, and God Love Omega's voice crackled over the intercom. “It’s not dead yet,” he muttered, more to himself than to the others, as the girls stared at the floating wreckage.
One by one, the Tarântula’s systems began shutting down, and God Love Omega knew the end was near for his mechanical body. “Hey,” he said to the twins, “jump out of the cockpit. Get down to the spaceport and get the hell off this rock.”
Molly-Lee peered out, nodding at the zero-gravity environment. She signaled to Ambercat, and both girls carefully unstrapped themselves, ready to float free from the wreck. In the strange weightlessness, everything moved slowly, deliberately, and the twins drifted from the remains of the Tarântula like leaves caught in a still wind.
Once outside, Molly-Lee reached for the NPU to pull it from the broken machine, but in zero-gravity, she couldn’t get close enough. Her voice tense, she turned to God Love Omega. “We can’t get you out…”
But his voice came through, steady and unwavering. “Don’t take me out yet,” he said, resolve hardening his tone. “I’ve got enough power left for one last good play.”
God Love Omega’s gaze locked onto the alabaster hotel ship high above, glinting against the black void of space. For a fleeting moment, the distance seemed conquerable. The temptation to propel himself upward pulsed through his mind. If he could just make the right move, ride the momentum of the zero-G environment, maybe he could reach it. But even in the weightless expanse, the ship felt impossibly distant—a shimmering illusion, so close yet eternally out of reach.
The twins exchanged glances but understood. This wasn’t goodbye—not yet. They began drifting toward the spaceport, using gentle pushes, pulling themselves along by grabbing onto whatever debris floated nearby.
Inside the NPU, God Love Omega entered hibernation mode. Systems dimmed, and for now, the great machine grew silent, leaving the battlefield behind as it drifted in slow orbit around the comet’s surface, waiting for his next move.