Panic. Nausea. Tapper watched Phanya bear the full bore of Zero's attack and vanish into the waterfall, and she didn't come back out. All because Tapper allowed his proprietor to put herself in danger. And he yelled at her, too! Even if she emerged unscathed, Tapper deserved to be decommissioned for this breach of contract. He had to get down there and fix things, now.
Tapper's bar trivia generated a new idiom to cast the new spell while he internally willed an energy thread into a circle, and again it failed to manifest. He could feel the spark of creation for a moment, but without the premade chain loop of word combinations he couldn't shape the spell in time. Logically, Tapper realized that trying to instantaneously cast an untested spell in the middle of combat with a Manaburn debuff was a fool's errand. Emotionally, Tapper wondered if he just lacked the creative spark and a human mage wouldn't put their compatriots in danger like this.
Every miscast drove him further into frustration and Tapper knew that each attempt increased the odds of these spells fizzling, but he couldn't think of any other way to get the cart to Zero with enough momentum. The library of adventurer knowledge, fed up with the increased shouting from the emotional subroutines, wormed its way across Tapper's visual processors so that it could at least make itself read, if not heard.
[Toil and Trouble! Witch spells that rhyme receive an extra 1d4 that grows by one step for every full round of casting, up to a bonus equal to half your Witchcraft level (1).]
Right, Tapper vaguely recalled reading that as some sort of class feature somewhere. One day, he'll have to ask an organic how they manage to remember anything this way. But for now his library fed him that reminder, and it followed up with one long poem from human mythology called "Song of the Witches" that Tapper knew he could use as inspiration. It wouldn't go any deeper for an actual suggestion, either because it wouldn't or couldn't, so Tapper had to think up a rhyme on his own.
And the longer he ran a search through his internal dictionary for any matching words, the more holes he noticed. Gaps where words are referenced but never defined, or defined as a part of speech that doesn't match with its usage. So frustrating! Tapper grabbed the crimson blossom in his emotions, crumpled it into a ball, and crammed it into his impromptu spell circle. Hopefully that would suffice for the intent behind his spell, and if he pulled a line from the poem verbatim then it could serve as the spell's foundation.
"Double, double toil on backs; metal twists and calls SPRAY TRACKS!"
A pulse from Tapper's chest rippled outwards, felt on a level deeper than feeling as the very universe recoiled at the audacity of willing such an atrocious rhyme into existence. Just truly shameful to call this witchcraft. And yet, Tapper's frustration burned a pattern through the universe in order to shape the spell anyways. Draining every remaining point of mana from his battery certainly helped form the spell, as well.
But the energy thrummed, and grew, until it burst into reality through the conduit and out of the cart. It shuddered, started to glow slightly, and Tapper aimed the cart at the broken gap in the railing.
Rethar had long since finished his existential crisis, as he was still stuck to the cart his anger could do little more than feed ever more inventive curses at Tapper's direction. His diatribe crumbled into the wordless gibberings of fear as Rethar was offered a front-row seat of the cart careening through the hole he made, only for it to keep steady through the open air. The cart was flying?
If Rethar craned his neck he could see a bright green light just in front of each wheel, screeching like tearing metal and leaving a solid band of silver in its wake. They were the perfect size to act as tracks for the cart to ride on, though Rethar couldn't see what supported the tracks. What he could see was the cart start to pitch and the tracks swooped to match, always right where they needed to be. The damn robot was controlling it!
A tinny whoop of joy deflated the tension in Tapper's emotions like a balloon. It worked, his desperate ploy took form and Tapper could feel the mana thrumming through the cart. He was in control for now, but he needed more speed to really make use of his one opportunity. With a twist of will the cart pitched and angled itself sharply upwards, gravity quickly sapping away any speed as they gained height. Pushing more of his own willpower eked out a few more feet of height, but when that stopped helping he evened out the track and made this the apex of their ascent.
Tapper had long since filtered out the sound of Rethar yelling, but as the cart leveled out Tapper caught sight of the man's flailing arms. What was he yelling about now? "— me up, you damn bot! I'm slipping help I'm slipping AAHHHH!"
Tapper realized too late that the cart had only held Rethar in place with its momentum, and once that was lost Rethar fell from the cart. Right at its highest point, next to the gigantic orbiting hologram, and Tapper ran some quick calculations. He kept the margin of error very wide to ensure that the program ran quickly, and it returned that Rethar probably had a greater than 51% chance of surviving the fall, so Tapper scrubbed "Save Rethar" from his priority list. He'll be fine, probably.
Instead, all of Tapper's attention snapped to the big boss down below. Zero was swinging and shooting indiscriminately now at anything that moved, but he wasn't looking up so Tapper went all in on the surprise of speed. The cart shot downwards and Tapper resumed feeding willpower into it, pushing the cart faster than it could fall with mere gravity. With the last shred of his control Tapper hauled the cart upwards to level out, reeling back with his mind and letting go of his hands to roll free of the collision.
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The last thing Tapper saw was the cart perfectly aligned with Zero's knees before the world was sent spinning. Tapper didn't see the collision, but he heard it. He heard the wailing screech of metal, the enraged roar of Zero, and far too many wet and organic sounds in-between. Tapper, meanwhile, skid and slid until a broken security robot gave him a very abrupt stop.
[Injury: Dislocated shoulder
Cannot attack or lift heavy objects with affected arm]
Tapper tried to stand and one arm instantly gave out with a shock of pain, informing him what a dislocated shoulder felt like. He tried again without using his left arm, but winced again when he saw the total destruction he had wrought. A thick line of blood and small organic bits smeared across the floor, ending at half of Zero propped against the demolished cart. Technically more than half of Zero, going by mass, since his legs used to be a comparatively small portion of his body.
No, recontextualizing it didn't make any difference that Tapper had ruined beyond recognition everything Zero had below the waist. There was something about the region that Tapper knew was often a point of pride for some people, though he lacked all context on this piece of trivia. But the deed was done, Zero was in no condition to fight now, and without their management available the raider hierarchy would crumble in no time.
The heap of Zero lurched and groaned, freezing Tapper in place. His resilience exceeded all predictive models! Two fuzzy cones of red light roamed in the floating concrete dust from Zero's cybernetic eyes, spinning independently of each other, but one passed over Tapper and held still. Its cone focused into a thin ray of light and the other eye snapped over to join it, and Zero's groan turned into a growl. He fell forward and propped himself on his hands without his eyes ever leaving Tapper, and the turret on his back started to twitch and swivel. "Damn BOT! You woooon't REPLACE me..."
The shot went wide, but the rush of air and noise knocked Tapper off his feet and whatever the artillery hit became a shower of screams and tinkling glass. Tapper crab-walked backwards on his back spindles towards the noise, since it was away from Zero, but with both of his arms disabled he wasn't going to outrun the cannon a second time.
"HEY, ASSHOLE!" The shout came too late to ruin the surprise of Phanya arriving at a full sprint, turning that momentum into a flying kick aimed at Zero's metal jaw. It didn't really damage the monster, but it did knock Zero off balance and the second shot from his cannon destroyed more of the background. Zero tried to retaliate by snapping at Phanya with his clamp-like jaws, but she easily sidestepped him and walked away as if he no longer mattered so she could help Tapper stand up.
Tapper had to verify his optical sensors weren't damaged. His proprietor was unharmed, and she was smiling! Relief washed through his emotional center, too much relief, enough for his subroutines to overload and speak autonomously. "Actually, I believe he no longer has an asshole." Phanya blinked once, made a face, and snorted with bemused laughter.
Zero started to snarl something, but a sharp line of scalding heat interrupted him again. The laser shot went just over Zero's shoulder and slagged the turret on his back, making Zero howl in pain as Steffo stepped up. The three stepped forward, Zero scooted back, and Tapper swelled with a heat yearning to end the fight. "Well, are ye ready to negotiate the terms of yer surrender?" His companions both made faces at Tapper's sudden accent, but Zero gave a twitch of fear before rage consumed everything.
The bulk boss roared within the last shards of his soul and his back bumped against the wreckage of the sample cart. In one fluid motion Zero righted it, got on top, and punched his clawed hand through the metal surface. His metal arm morphed, hard edges softening like hot wax to meld with the cart, and with a spark of electricity it came to life. The wailing of misaligned wheels was the last thing they heard as Zero sped away.
[Enemy routed: Cybroid Berserker lvl 7, +15 XP for participation]
DING!
The sound had no discernable source nor volume, but everyone heard it. Everyone felt it, a single sharp chime from an infinitely large bell with a shockwave that kicked up dust and scattered rubble. The far wall of the atrium, already weakened by two impacts from a mobile artillery platform, collapsed with a long groan, and then all was still. "Oh excellent, I'm level 3 now!"
"Hell yeah Tapper, was that from ohhh owshitfuck." Phanya lurched forward and hugged her torso, waving off the other two when they moved· toward her. "I'm fine, I'm fine! …No I'm not fine, oh goddamn." She moved her hands to brace against her knees and Phanya tried to take slow steadying breaths, wincing with pain every time. "Okay, okay, I'm good, just surprised me. Yeah that's definitely a bruised rib, thanks for the tip you dumb little message. I'll be fine, just gimme a second. No Tapper, we can deal with this after we deal with that."
Phanya waved behind them, where all the remaining raiders were either staring at the trio that defeated their boss, or milling in a stupor around the tracks left from Tapper's magic trick. Two glowing, unbroken lengths of an unknown metal that rose, fell, and twisted in the ghost of a wild rollercoaster ride. Someone flicked one of the tracks and an ethereal tone rang out, answered by oohs and ahhs. "We gotta scatter them before they get any bright ideas."
Tapper nodded and took an uneasy step on top of a broken security robot and tried to modulate his voice into the most commanding tone possible. "Oi, Raiders of Zero! We have conquered your dungeon, claiming all within! Flee now with your lives, else ye shall forfeit them as well!"
No one moved, or even blinked, until Phanya stepped up next to Tapper. She breathed as deeply as she could manage, gulped down the wince, and shouted, "All this skrat is ours now, so you got five minutes before we send these securibots to hunt you down! Get out of our mall!"
That did the trick, one by one the raiders came to their senses and ran off down the hallways, presumably to get one last round of looting in before they fled. Tapper attempted to give Phanya a thumbs-up, but his broken hand misfired and the lighter in his thumb lit itself instead. Steffo joined the two with his helmet off, and Phanya took a very close look before her eyes went wide with recognition.