"Efficiency 3 Unlocked."

"Efficiency 4 Unlocked."

"Efficiency 5 Unlocked."

"Transmutation Unlocked."

Man, that felt good. I had been holding onto that load for a while, and finally dropping those skills into their rightful place gave me that little burst of feel-good energy that I so desperately needed.

Especially with the entire mood of this shitty village.

I stood by the entrance to Doc's cabin, leaning against the doorframe like a real bad boy, watching the men of the village dig their trenches and fill their sandbags. They were really digging in, most of the defenses in a sort of horseshoe curve between the village and the vast green plains.

I, of course, wanted nothing to do with such manual labor. It was beneath me.

I had one more class point to spend, and since I halfway thought to just escape on my own, I went ahead and dropped it on a mobility skill.

"Dagger Cleats unlocked."

That should help with traction and speed, at least. My galloping would be even faster now.

"There's not enough time," said a nearby voice. It came from an old man in a white robe--a village elder. "We'd have a better chance defending in the mountains." He spoke to another old man, who instead wore a guerilla fighter's outfit. Cargo pants tucked into boots. Tan shirt. Probably a rebel leader.

"The airship can't land well enough in the mountains," said the rebel.

"It can't land in a warzone, either!" snapped the elder.

"And besides, it's too late," said the rebel. "What could we do? Send them a smoke signal? They'll be here any minute."

The elder huffed, and together, they squeezed past me and into Doc's cabin.

He had been getting plenty of these visitors lately, and the only thing I was worried about was getting this new body he kept promising me. It really felt like he had been fucking around this whole time--making sandwiches, probably--so I intended to just leave as soon as I got it.

Wasn't any point in staying here. These rebels were as good as dead. No use of them. And there was no guarantee that they would take me to wherever Jenna was. I could just make that trip on my own.

Once I had my new body, of course.

"Ah, Redrim. There you are."

I turned. It was Doc. He waved me inside, and I followed him through his living room--feet tapping across the marble tiles--past his kitchen--the old people still arguing at the table--and into his workshop.

I scanned around for the body.

There was nothing to see. The platform table was empty. The tools on the walls now packed into boxes. His desk clean.

"Well?" I asked. My words were knives, and he felt the threat. "Where is it? You did finish it, did you not?" I glared into him.

He raised his hands to soothe me. "Relax, Redrim. It is done." He opened his desk drawer, sifted around, shut it, opened the next, and drew out a black sphere. It was inlet with a glowing red line that crossed around it, and even now, I could sense its power. But--

"What is this?" I asked. "This is my new body? I'm supposed to roll around in this tiny little hamster cage?"

He chuckled. "No, Redrim. This is just the core." He handed it over. It was heavy. So heavy, I almost dropped it. "Once you consume it, you'll be able to take its power and abilities."

I fondled the sphere for a moment, stared a few more daggers into Doc, and dropped it in.

Thoonk.

+1 WM Mecha Core (Mythic)

Oh shit. A mythic-tier item? I mean, I was fully stocked with mythic items in my paladin days, but now? This was the real shit.

Hmmmmm.

Click.

Skill tree unlocked: War Machine

Yes! Finally! How could I use it?

In my mind's eye, I brought up the skill tree.

Activation 1 Mecha Calibrator 2 Mecha Activator

The hell is this!? "Doc," I growled. "What is this?"

"Hm? Oh, yes," he said. "I forgot to mention that you will need a few class points in order to fully activate your War Machine Armor."

I groaned, audibly this time.

"Is something the matter, Redrim? Is this not to your liking? I can promise that you'll be much satisfied once you--"

"No," I said. "It's fine. I'll just need to grind out the levels. Will I need to do this every time? How does that work?"

"Only once," he said. "Then, you'll be free to don your armor as you see fit."

"Don my armor?"

"Yes, Redrim. After your first activating, the armor will bind to your mecha frame, combining the two. Then you may exit the armor and return to your previous recycler form as needed. The skills will remain, but you will still need to gather the necessary resources in order to re-activate the armor."

"Interesting," I said. I didn't let him see my grin. Well, he couldn't, anyway, as I had no face. Because I was still a trash can. "I suppose there isn't any point in leaving the armor, then."

"Perhaps you may feel a need, depending on the circumstances."

I grinned harder. The idea of ejecting out of my War Machine armor just to slice up some fools as a militant trash can somehow sounded... exciting. "Thank you, Doc," I said.

He smiled. "Of course. I hope you'll join us on our journey once the airship arrives."

I gave it a moment of thought. "For now," I told him, "I think I'll visit the frontlines."

----------------------------------------

Hmmmm-click.

+1 Rifle (Common)

I pulled it out of my mouth and handed it to villager. He nodded and took it, then hunched back down behind his little sandbag wall to go back to his meal.

The trenches here were damp and had that fresh-dirt smell. Granted, they had only just made these things last night.

Hmmm-click.

+1 Rifle (Common)

I tossed it to his buddy. He caught it and hit me with a thankful nod.

Giving them weapons to fight with wasn't something I was particularly enthusiastic about doing, but I had a plan. If the army attacks in a full-frontal assault, these cannon-fodder villages would be my distraction. That way, I could close the gap for melee combat. How else is a skeleton trash can demon supposed to eat?

Hmmm-click.

+1 Rifle (Common)

"Here you go," I said.

"Thank you," said the old miner. He took the gun and admired it.

I started off to the next trench.

"Listen," he stopped me. "Sorry about... you know. Tommy Jay. I know he looked up to you, and--"

I left. Talking to these people was a waste of time, and we all knew it. That's why he wasn't upset when I dodged his lame-ass conversation. I had better shit to do. Like making guns.

It was a foggy day, and the pale mist of it revealed only an arrow's shot down the green fields. Village scouts had been patrolling the area, but everyone was on edge.

I hopped over a sandbag wall and landed in the next trench. Here, a familiar face looked shocked to see me.

"Oh, hey, man." It was that lazy miner. The one who nearly overloaded me yesterday. He had somehow scooped up enough dirt to make a little seat for himself, and he was laid so far back that I'd expect him to fall asleep any minute. "Watcha doin' buddy?"

"Making guns," I said.

"I'm good." He reached down beside him and showed me his rifle. "I could use more powder, though, if you got some on ya."

"Sure."

Hmmmm-click-click.

+1 Pouch Black Powder (Small)

+1 Pouch Lead Bullets (Small)

I tossed them over, and they plopped on his chest. It seemed to tickle him more than anything.

"Aw, man! You spoil me, buddy."

"Yep."

I paused, expecting more dialogue.

"Thanks again for the help yesterday. Man, you really saved my back. It had been hurting a while, and I had my kid walk on it, but that only seemed to make it worse."

"Yep."

I turned to leave.

"Alright, buddy, be safe."

"Yep."

I hopped over the sandbag wall and went to the next trench. To my dismay, it was that cow shit farmer.

"Oh, howdy," he said. "You busy, by chance? I'm just a wee bit short on--"

I hopped over the wall and continued on. He smelled like cow shit.

The next trench was filled with a group of young men, probably not even old enough to enlist.

"Oh, hey, you're that recycler thing, ain'tcha?"

"Yep."

They stared. Honestly, they looked like a bunch of teenage delinquents that an adult had just caught drinking behind a convenience store. Since they already had guns and seemed to be well-taken care of, I decided against making them more weapons. At least anything that they could somehow fuck up and kill themselves with.

Hmmm-click-click-click-click.

+4 Smoke Grenades

"Here," I said. "Once the fight gets rough, use these to screen your cover."

"Whoa," they all said together. You know. As kids tend to do. "Thanks, mister!"

"Yep."

I left and went to the next trench. This one held a couple familiar faces. The blacksmith--still shirtless--and the guard--still wearing the white bandana. The blacksmith groaned when he saw me, but the guard was all smiles.

"Ah, a sight for sore eyes," said the guard. "Those barrels were better than he gave you credit for."

"Is that so," I said. I didn't ask it. It was a rhetorical question. Because those barrels were high quality, and we all knew it.

I looked over at the blacksmith, and I noticed he didn't have a gun. Instead, he had armed himself with a short bow. Oddly enough, this short bow was made with machine-recycled wood.

He noticed me staring, or at least sensed it since I didn't have eyes. "Yes, I know," he said in a defeated tone. "You're the one who made this." He sighed. "My son gave it to me for good luck, so of course, I'd take it."

Hmmmm-click-click-click-click...

+23 Emulsification Arrows

+1 Steel Quiver

I handed the filled quiver to him. He paused, then took it gently.

As he inspected the strangely green-tipped arrows, I explained. "Those are poison. They should kill somewhat quickly." Honestly, I had no idea how quickly it would kill someone or if it would even work. I had only drowned a cave gimp with a bottle of the stuff, so there was no real telling.

Ever so slightly, he smiled. Equipping the quiver on his back, he took a long, deep breath. "Thank you."

The guard chuckled. "Honestly, I'm surprised to see anyone try to use a bow nowadays. Even back in the war, they made us run with muskets."

"You were soldiers," I said.

They both nodded. "Yes," said the blacksmith. "I was a major. He was a sergeant. We did good in the Lambston military. A nice, peaceful life when we weren't fighting, but it all seemed to change out of nowhere. Almost overnight."

The guard took on a somber look. "That it did, friend. Once that bitch Marianna killed off the royal family, she went hog-wild. Made us do all sorts of terrible things."

The blacksmith had a faraway look in his eyes. He nodded slowly, having a memory he felt no need to share. "She's a demon, that one."

"What did she do to you?" I asked.

His eyes were lit aflame. "She did too much."

The guard looked away.

And I felt a twinge of kinship with this guy. "That bitch Marianna," I said, "turned me into this."

He furrowed his brow and widened his eyes. "Wait, your..."

"I was human," I said. "But now I'm a fuckin' trash can."

They stared. Breathlessly. Then burst into laughter.

I shook my head, then slowly, I started to laugh beside them.

"Yeah, man," said the guard. "What a bitch, right?"

Once we calmed down, the blacksmith wiped his eyes. "I suppose... I should apologize," he said. "Marianna had my brother turned into a recycler those years ago, and seeing you just really--it really got to me. You reminded me of him, in a way."

"I'm not your brother," I said.

"Yes. That I am sure." He reached out for a handshake, and I took it.

"There!" yelled a voice. "Through the fog!"

We snapped over to look.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Far in the distance, a figure on horseback emerged. It was hard to make out, and I wasn't sure if it was one of our scouts, but in a split second, we saw it. A glitter of light on the shoulders--the uniform of an officer.

The horse trotted closer, right ahead.

Behind him, a disturbance in the horizon of fog--no. Those were people. Soldiers. Hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds marching in our direction.

The officer came closer to view. His red and gold uniform visible to all, and with a shout that echoed across the village and plains and mountains, the army halted.

The officer galloped over, alone.

"Positions!" hushed one of the farmers. Other villagers hurried to their defensive spots, some carrying guns, others pikes and scythes, other bows and arrows. The blacksmith nocked an arrow, and the guard chambered a round.

We watched as the officer rode up, stopping just a stone's throw away from the first sandbag wall. He looked at the villagers peeking over the sandbags, his horsed neighed and shook its head, and the officer opened his mouth to speak--

And his chest exploded with the roar of a gunshot.

He thumped into the grass, and the horse panicked to elsewhere.

The army behind was a mess of shouts and barked orders, and the mass of soldiers shifted around, almost as one mind, and they scattered, knelt, reformed into battle positions.

Weren't they too far?

Across their frontline, lights blinked fractions of a second before the sounds hit us, first a few, then several, then all of them.

A hail of gunfire slammed against the sandbags, shredded the grass, whiffed over our heads, and puffed into the wood of the cabins.

The pops and blasts of the enemy rifles bled into each other like an applause. An orchestra. A static roar of flashes and smoke so overwhelming that when a villager shouted, we couldn't hear, and none among us could peek over the sandbags to return fire.

Except I did. Just a little. Just to see what the enemy was doing.

The soldiers advanced as they fired! They were somehow firing without chambering another round. A new type of gun technology? Whatever they were, it was leagues ahead of these shitty bolt-action rifles I had been shitting out for the villagers.

Something large crept in behind the enemy army. It followed them. Through the haze of smoke and fog, I couldn't see clearly what it was, but it seemed the size of a house, crawling toward us with sharp edges and... metal.

It blinked, then roared like a dragon.

A moment passed. A section of the sandbag wall exploded, through sand and dirt and blood everywhere, knocking anyone nearby on their backs, rocks and debris tapping around.

That was a cannon. A big ass cannon.

The situation was looking hopeless. Sure, I could kill them one-on-one in melee warfare, maybe even if they were armed with repeating rifles, but an entire army? Only if I were still a paladin.

The army marched closer.

Some of the villagers fell back to the second line. The teenagers hurled their smoke grenades and followed suit. The blacksmith, guard, and I followed, crawling under the barrage of gunfire.

Someone shouted, "There! The airship!"

Just as I rolled behind the sandbag wall, I looked out over the enemy army and spotted what looked like a flying whale in the mist, blowing over the fog of the battle and pulling with it the plumes of smoke. It turned closer when it spotted us, and when its image turned clear, I saw that it was a warship-class airship. Basically just a regular wooden caravel with fins and propellers.

It roared over, its black flags flapping brilliantly in the mist, the crew staring down at us, the captain standing proud at the helm with his beard pulling in the breeze. The sight of them filled my heart with adventure, and I longed for this fun little journey, this branching path, this would-be situation of us escaping, me following Dr. Jackelope with the rebels, reuniting with Jenna, toppling the empire, and finally getting my body back.

It roared closer.

Then, the side of its hull exploded in fire and debris.

Well, shit.

It listed, careened lower--

The massive machine behind the army billowed smoke from its barrel.

--and the airship skid across the grass before us, ripping the earth, shedding planks of wood to spark off in splinters, toppling houses--the weight of it rumbling through the earth--and crashing far in the back of the village, where Doc's house was.

The villagers stared wide-eyed and pale at the carnage, and though a lull came from the noise of the battle, the enemy started up again.

"Go check on that," said the blacksmith. "We'll hold them here."

I wasn't in a mood to argue. I hopped out of the trench and galloped back, through the ruined cabins and over the debris like a wolf chasing prey, and I arrived back at Doc's house to see the airship half dug into it. It smoldered, both the house and the airship, and a mess of villagers and crewmen hurried to and fro to get it repaired.

I pushed through inside the cabin, squeezed underneath the hull of the ship that overturned couches and flipped tables, and spotted Doc in the workshop, working furiously. He had his goggles and black gloves on, and his face glistened with sweat. He was... making another sandwich.

People shouted all over, there was a cellar door I hadn't noticed before, and the hatch had been left open. Some of the elderly and infirm were here, checking on the noise, seeing the crashed airship, and retreating back down, distraught with worry.

"You're the guy, eh?" said a gruff voice, handsome and noble, and oddly pirate-like.

I turned to see the captain facing me. His majestic beard pulled in the wind just as it did when he flew the airship. It wasn't even windy. It just did that.

He flipped up his eyepatch so he could see me better, and when his sparkling blue eyes got their fill, he nodded in approval. "Aye, that you are."

"How soon can we leave?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Half hour, I'd say. I got the best crew this side of th' sea, but even so, the Black Jacket Bird needs fixin'." He patted the hull that rested half in the open grassy area and half in Doc's living room. "That is if we can hold out that long, eh?"

I groaned inwardly. It seemed that dumbass fantasy of escaping on that awesome airship flown by that majestic captain would just remain that: a fantasy.

If there were ever a time to flee, it would be now. I could run and hide in the spider caves. Maybe climb the mountain and find shelter there. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could just gallop past everything with my bear disguise.

I took a deep breath.

No. I needed to fight. Fighting against an army now would test my abilities, my courage, my resolve. If I wanted to continue my quest of defeating Marianna, then of course I would need to face armies. Even alone.

I turned back to the battle. The villagers had fallen back again. The defensive line was starting to crumble.

Hmmmmm-click-click-click.

+1 CyberLeather Cloak (Rare)

+1 Steel Buckler (Uncommon)

+1 Longsword (Rare)

I threw on my pitch-black cloak as a hero would. The shield was heavy. My longsword glimmered. And my ten manipulator arms blossomed behind me.

It was time to have some fun.

----------------------------------------

The air stung of gunsmoke.

My limbs pounded across the ground like hooves.

Gunfire flashed, pellets zipped by, the grass shredded by ricochets.

My cloak fluttered through the wind.

The villagers shouted against another enemy push.

They fled back from the defensive line.

I zipped by as a black blur.

Passing gazes of awe. Looks of fear, shock, hope.

A bullet grazed my leather armor. I sprinted closer. I was a lion. Hunting.

A wall of smoke divided us. The enemy obscured on the other side.

I leapt through. The smoke thick and heavy. It swirled from my force, and I rolled on the landing--at a soldier's feet!--and in a flash, I diced him with 10 knife-hands and my longsword.

He erupted into meaty bits and red mist, and as the scarlet rain of him poured around, I could see the extent of my foe.

Just within sight alone was maybe three dozen, and that was a stone's throw away. There were hundreds more lost in this smoke and fog.

They stared in awe at me.

I hurled a smoke grenade and darted to my next target.

Gunfire.

Bullets smacked against my cloak, but they amounted to little more than mere dents with my armor.

Using a few of my manipulator arms, I drew out single-shot muskets and fired back--

I wasn't doing this for them.

--I sliced through another soldier. I gripped a few pieces of him and tossed them in my mouth.

Hmmmm.

I was doing this for me.

A handful of soldiers emerged from the smoke. They stopped, aimed--I raised my steel buckler--and they fired. Sparks erupted, and a bullet cut through my left shoulder. My shield dropped into the grass as I chased them down, now slicing them to bits--blasting them with pre-made shotguns--and throwing chunks of them into my mouth.

Hmmmm.

+1 Level [Level 29]

+1 Class Point

"Activation 1, Mecha Calibrator unlocked."

Thak!

I spun around. A soldier tried to sneak up on me, but he caught a green-tipped arrow in the neck. His wound seemed to boil his skin away. I sliced off his head and chucked it in.

Hmmmm.

More soldiers poured in from the fog. They spotted me, shook back at the mess I was making, then aimed to fire.

Heart of the Masochist activated.

I shield myself with my cloak. A hail of bullets peppered me, forcing my heels to dig into the grass. My longsword shattered.

I tossed them a flashbang.

This was stupid. I should've just run.

The flashbang popped. The gunfire paused. I dashed in to close the gap.

In a flurry of slashes and gunfire, I ripped through the surrounded soldiers and crouched on all fours.

I galloped forth like a beast.

Emergency power activated.

Flashstep activated.

I flashed into the next group--they stumbled back--and with a metallic roar, I ripped them to shreds with my hands and arms, pieces of them toppled away in arcs of scarlet, those far enough to see through the smoke watching in horror.

On my hands and knees, overtaken by my masochist battle high, I raised my trash-can head to the heavens and howled.

Then, I devoured them.

Hmmmmm.

I was a predator, and they were my prey.

Something flashed from afar, followed by a resounding boom.

That siege machine.

The sandbag wall behind me erupted, blossomed out in dirt and debris, and pushed me in a tumble.

I stood and found myself staring at a line of riflemen, a firing squad. It was the second wave. The first were just a few dozen, but there were a hundred, and beyond the veil of smoke and mist, thousands more.

Just a few more. All I needed was a few more limbs.

There! I spotted a soldier by himself. He seemed out of ammo and would be easy pickings.

I flashed over, closer, dashing in--

He spotted me and drew a sword.

--and I flashed in behind him.

His body split into sloppy thirds, and he slid apart.

I took a chunk of him and shoved it in my mouth.

Hmmmmm...

This was it! It should've been enough. I just needed to finish recycling it.

Mana: 0/1000

Flashstep deactivated.

Emergency power deactivated.

Heart of the Masochist deactivated.

A hail of gunfire slammed against me, dented my body further, shattering through my flex arms--my skeleton arm cracked to pieces, my leg gave out.

I fell to a knee.

This was a suicide mission. I didn't plan this through.

I made a mistake.

No. Not a mistake. I just needed to come to terms with myself.

The gunfire didn't cease, and like a thousand beating drums, it punished me further.

I was doing this for them. I had somehow... started to kinda like them.

My arm sparked. My leather armor began to unravel.

Hmmmm...

"Cassandra," I said. "Flashstep. Emergency power."

She didn't reply.

Bullets punched holes through me.

My skeleton arm ripped off.

"Cassandra?"

Static spoke back, then died.

Was this it?

Was this worth saving those village fucks?

+15,992 XP

I didn't level up. I was only a few thousand away.

My knee shattered, and I fell on my side.

I looked around. A human leg was nearby. I crawled toward it. My limbs sparking. My manipulator arms wrapping my only working skeletal arm to create muscle fibers, all to give that little burst of XP.

The light of the world dimmed.

I crawled.

The gunfire slowed, then ceased.

I crawled. Closer. Then, I stopped.

My arm refused to move. My body lay frozen.

Soldiers approached, rifles aimed, confident I was gone.

And I was.

My vision blurred, and I could see that siege machine in the distance. Closer now, I could tell that it had treads for wheels, a boxy metal thing, and its top turned over, and its long barrel aimed at me.

This was it.

I closed my eyes.

And the world flashed bright.

Silence.

Then gasps from a thousand men.

My eyes shot open.

I was alive!

I looked up to see--

Black books. Black pants. A peasant's shirt. A magic shield shimmering, a longsword glowing red.

Hair slicked back on the side.

That motherfucker punsmith.

Smoke billowed past us, and he stood between me and the army, facing them.

"Really?" I coughed.

He didn't budge. "I'm not doing this for you," he said. "I'm doing it for her."

"I didn't ask for help," I said.

"And it didn't look like you needed it," he said back. "Looked like you were dying just fine on your own."

One of the soldiers shouted. "He's a caster. Burst him down!"

Vil braced. A hundred soldiers fired. Bullets plinked and arced off his magic shield, throwing trails of sparks that glowed and lit around us.

And all I could do was lay there and watch, broken, useless, and it infuriated me.

I tried to roll my body, to angle that leg further into my mouth, but... I just... couldn't get close enough.

A nearby explosion pummeled us with heat and hot wind, and the leg rolled right in.

There. It was finished.

Hmmmm.

+1 Level [Level 30]

+1 Class Point

I just... needed to live... a moment longer...

"Unlock... Activation 2... Mecha... activator..."

"Activation 2, Mecha Activator unlocked."

My body faded to a dull numbness, and the world muffled to silence.

And so came the darkness.

----------------------------------------

I floated in a realm of infinite dark.

I was a skeleton, all of me, and I dreamt that my bones cracked and splintered, and from the marrow came forth a thousand metal threads that snapped out and wrapped around my arms, my legs, my ribs. The substance, like iron ribbons, grasped the entirety of me tight, more, giving me thickness, giving me form.

It pulsed like a heartbeat. More.

I had become iron manifest.

It covered my skull like a helmet, snapped tight, and my eyes ripped open--

--to a scarred battlefield.

I was alive!

The light of my transformation blinded all nearby, pulling from those unfortunate soldiers gasps of awe and terror at this mechanical warrior before them.

My arms ripped and thick. My legs mighty, my torso rugged and muscular as a heroic iron statue. My face stern and angry--and right above the slit of my mouth--a jagged crazy mustache.

A burst of wind rippled out from me.

Looking over Vil's head, I surveyed the thousand soldiers before us. The frontline had been decimated by Vil's wind slashes, but beyond, the bulk of the army.

"Well, Redrim," said Vil. "Now that you're... whatever it is that you are, maybe we could... recycle this situation into something better."

I chuckled darkly. "Five out of five."

In a flash, he darted to the left flank. Soldiers fired at him, but bullets sparked off his shield. With every swing, green slashes of magic ripped through their ranks.

I sprinted right, almost in a blur.

The soldier shook back and fired at me, but the pellets ricocheted without effect.

It was time to test out this new body.

"Cassandra!"

"Yes?"

"Emergency power!"

My feet pounded heavy across the grass in a near lightning-speed dash.

I snatched a soldier's throat and headbutted him.

His face shattered.

My flex arms shot out from my back, these black metal tentacle things, and they swirled in a slashing torrent to shred through two more, three, four men.

Faster. I needed to kill more.

"Heart of the Masochist!" I yelled.

The left flank exploded. Vil darted out from the plume of smoke, and he slashed a cross-swing at the next wave of men.

He was gonna kill more than me!

Unacceptable!

I didn't have time to check what skills I had available.

I wasn't even sure how I could recycle or craft anything with my now-human sized mouth.

I pounded toward the next wave. Soldiers raised their rifles at me. "Cassandra!"

"Yes?"

"Activate something cool!"

"Confirmed."

My legs gave way, and I stumbled to a roll, eating dirt and grass as I flipped around like a rolling fish.

"The fuck is this?" I grunted.

"Activating turret mode."

-5000 Fire Element

-5000 Blood Element

-5000 Earth Element

-5000 Water Element

-5000 Air Element

Turret Mode activated.

My arms snapped locked, my joints clacked as they reformed, and my body sort of melded into something new--a fucking cannon-type machine.

"The fuck is this?"

"You're a turret," she said.

"I don't know what that is!"

In place of my arms, strange rifle-looking guns aimed out, and in my torso, a large-mouthed cannon. I shook off the worry, as now a small cavalry squad galloped around the flank to challenge me.

I pulled my trigger fingers.

Ra-tat-tat-tat-tat--

I was an auto-fire weapon! Bullets ripped through them, horses and men, throwing tracing lines of fire that shredded through the cavalry squad, and I pulled the outpour of gunfire across their line.

Men dove to escape, others outright tried to flee, but none was saved by my electric gunfire onslaught.

Something boomed from afar--that siege machine! The shell roared over in a screeching wail, and my left side exploded, ripping off my left gun arm and shredding the armor on my left torso. Beneath my armor, I found, was my original trash can core.

This wasn't just my body. It was an extension of myself. This was a machine, and I its trash can pilot.

I might not have been invincible. But I was still a force of nature. And the intensity of the pain gave me the biggest heart-of-the-masochist boners I had ever experienced.

My cannon clicked over to aim. I focused my energy inward--I took on a glow--and released it.

The recoil nearly toppled me over, the flash blinding, the echoing blast deafening. Dust and dirt flashed up from the grass as my cannon fired--

And the enemy siege weapon blossomed in fire and smoke.

Kssss-clink, kerchunk.

The smoking, hissing shell shot out from my back, and I felt another take its place for the reload.

A few hundred of them shouted out a general warcry, bayonettes fixed, some firing their last shot before tossing guns aside, sabers ripping from sheaths, faces desperate and scared.

I fired again.

A section of their line erupted into red mist and dirt.

Ammunition: 0.

I scoffed. Turret mode was fun, but I preferred melee.

My body reformed with metallic clanks and hums, and I stood tall as a proud, noble warrior. My left side had been shredded, but my fighting spirit unfazed.

Hmmmm-click-click-click...

+9 Longswords (Rare)

My flex arms reached into the opening in my back and drew them out.

And I stood before the charge of men and horse as a demon of war, and I met them with my own.

----------------------------------------

The whole thing took about an hour. Maybe a little more. Didn't realize it was over until I ripped a man apart, swung around, and saw Vil doing the same to the other last soldier, and we stared both in tired confusion and with an air of hesitant relaxation.

And we paused. Relaxed, as we saw the result of our carnage. Some thousand dead soldiers, weapons and flags littering the ground, a destroyed tank--as it was called--and a village deserted.

The airship was gone.

They left us.

"Well, shit," I said. "We missed our ride."

"You didn't know?" Vil said back. "They sent someone to tell us, but you yelled something back about... masochism. I don't think you were paying attention." He crouched down and sat in the grass to wipe his brow. "I suppose you... couldn't afford it."

Silence came, the wind blew, and the sting of ash and blood wafted past us.

"Two out of five," I said.

He smirked. "Four point five out of eleven."

"I'm pretty sure that's the same thing."

"No, it's better," he said. "It's a bigger number."

I sighed, then chuckled a deep, metal chuckle at the state of the world, and when Vil joined in, and when it passed, I took a deep breath. "Well, now what?"

Vil looked around. We were alone, and it seemed that way for kilometers. "I have committed what they call treason, so I suppose I'm now a rebel."

I wasn't really trying to have a companion of any sort, especially not the same obnoxious pun-slinging ex-military captain that this guy was, but it seemed options were limited. My ultimate destination was wherever Jenna was, not to where his little bread-girl waifu had gone. "I'll go straight to the desert canyons."

"You'd cut right through imperial territory. Not to mention the sea that splits the continents."

"Goddamnit."

"Where was the airship headed?" he asked. "I suggest we head there."

"West," I said.

He nodded. "Well, then. Shall we?"

I groaned inwardly. "Sure."

----------------------------------------

"P-please, your highness," said the sniveling peasant. "We humbly request a postponement on our tax debt. Our poor village struggles to feed our people with such a burden."

Marianna, the queen, stared down at him from the throne. Her legs crossed, her head rested on her hand, her face--clear to all court attendants and nobles in the palace room--fatally unamused. Around her, several hunky, muscular, sexy men offered her grapes and waved at her with oversized leaves to fend off the heat.

The peasant waited for an answer, then continued. "I'm-I'm sure with the next harvest, we can afford to pay the tax." He lowered his head further to the floor. "P-please, your grace."

"Guards," said Marianna. "Kill him."

The peasant threw his head up and stared with horrified eyes. "No. No! We can talk about--"

With a metallic slice, his head toppled and poured scarlet across the palace floors. The shirtless--and ripped--palace guard drug him away.

Marianna looked to her crestfallen advisor. "Burn the village. Sell its people as slaves."

The advisor cowered away. "Yes, your majesty."

"Next!" she yelled out.

The palace doors slammed open.

The crowd gasped.

Marianna herself smiled widely, uncrossed her legs, and stood at the sight of the man.

Sparkling long blonde hair. Glittering smile that dripped charisma. Perfect eyebrows. A perfect figure that could kill a man dead. She had a body fit for a king and his wife, and the extent of her breasts that bled through her skin-tight shirt, the grace of her flowing half-cape, the glow of her skin, it drew out Marianna's lust, and the stares they shared spoke volumes in the palace throne room.

"Who," she asked. "Who is this mysterious, gorgeous woman who stands before me, the queen of the South?"

The woman grinned. Some fainted nearby. Others were blinded by the brightness of her smile. "My name," she said with a voice of wine and honey, "is Jackie Barnabas."

Marianna smiled with half-lidded eyes. She bit her lip. "Are you in want of a lover?"

"Several," she said.

Marianna burst into laughter. The palace audience laughed. The male harem servants laughed.

"I require but one thing," she paused them. "The name and location of that one asshole trash can." She stared with fire in her eyes. "I have come to this world to end it. Not the world, I mean. Just the trash can. I've come to kill this motherfucking trash can."