Jethro couldn't breathe for a second. Not merely out of fear, but from sheer disbelief.
He had never seen a Titanic Liongolem before, however, it had been one of the mechbeasts he'd read about in the glyphs.
It was about 15-foot tall with a body the exact same form of a lion, but built from volcanic rock. Magma veins glowed beneath the fissures that connected the rocks, its mane was liquid fire, dripping molten embers to the ground and causing the earth to steam. The same liquid fire formed the end of its tail.
When it roared, the resonance rolled across the shattered floor of the cathedral like thunder, and its massive paws crushed the ground beneath.
For the Terravore Slugbeast, it was now completely helpless in the Liongolem's crushing grasp. With the continuous force that it used to emerge out of the earth, the Lion beast crashed it down in a pile of stone rubble, shockwaves tearing through the foundation of the ancient structure.
Jethro stared, utterly flabbergasted. 'Who the hell owns that?'
From the haze, the escort stepped forward. Jethro's head snapped towards him, and he froze at what he saw.
There was something completely different about the escort now. He was no longer the corporate drone dressed in a smile and a uniform. He was… intimidating.
His blond hair lit up, scorching into flames and then liquidizing into lava that dripped down his shoulder, yet did not harm him.
His boots that pulled him forward sank into the earth, melting it into bubbling magma. Five round, heavy rocks tore free from the soil, orbiting around him like satellites, while dripping with lava.
His eyes glowed faintly red beneath his new mane of liquid fire. His body shimmered faintly with a visible heat distortion that caused the air around him to warp, while his arms were cracked with lines of molt.
"Escorts aren't allowed to interfere with Rift expeditions," he muttered, though his voice now carried a new aura that loudened the essence of his words. "But this… is an exception."
By his will alone, two of the orbiting molten rocks shot forward, leaving fiery tails behind. They struck the Blight-Tusk Howler and the Graven Vulturefiend mid-charge. The searing impact sent both beasts crashing back, thick plumes of acrid smoke rising into the chaotic air.
'Yeah!' Jethro punched the air in fierce jubilation. He felt an extreme rush of excitement and thrill drizzle up his spine, momentarily eclipsing his fear, though he had been aware enough not to celebrate out loud.
He'd had no idea the escort was this phenomenally badass!
It made a grim sort of sense, he supposed. Beastcorp would issue capable escorts in case things went sideways in Rift expeditions. But a tamer with a Platinum-Rank mechbeast? That was unexpected.
He watched, mesmerized, as the escort charged into attack. He moved like a lion himself— not with four legs, but with the same ferocity, fluidity and precision. The Howler roared and charged as well, skittering towards him with its six insect legs as green fog billowed from its maw.
Jethro braced, certain that the Howler was going to get the better of that collision, but the escort disappeared in the blink of an eye. He had closed the distance and was suddenly below the Howler's hideous face, his molten fist swinging forward.
The escort executed a thunderous uppercut. The impact cracked one of the Howler's tusks, sending it staggering. Refusing to relent, he pulled his other hand along with a spear of molten rock that pierced the beast's side, causing it to shake the walls of the expanse with its shriek of agony.
The Graven Vulturefiend, seeing its ally wounded, screeched and dove at him, talons stretched open like curved katanas. But the escort raised his arm, and the orbiting rocks snapped into position, forming a blazing shield of interlocked stone, deflecting the blow with a shower of sparks.
When the vulture spun the other way, banking for another pass, he quickly retaliated by remoulding the shield into one giant ball of hot rocks and accurately shot it at the monster. The Vulturefiend was caught in the explosion, bursting out in pain as it retreated into the fog.
Jethro, amazed as he was, snapped his gaze to the escort's beast; the Titanic Liongolem. It was grappling with the Slugbeast, claws digging into its armored back, eliciting furious, high-pitched shrieks from the slug.
Then his eyes moved around the rest of the expanse. The others were still sprawled on the floor. Padva was slowly recovering, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Mory was still squeezed in the corner, clutching her plant nervously.
Jethro stared at the situation for a moment and cursed. The courier's duty. It was to bring the fallen squad members to safety. It rang in his mind as his eyes darted between the epic battle and his incapacitated comrades.
He cursed again. And cursed. And cursed. And then, he snapped into action.
Squeaaaaaakkkkk! His Lizard shrieked in his pocket, begging him not to go.
"Shut up, scaredy-cat!" Jethro groaned, running into the fray. "We're not going to just sit back and do nothing!"
He sprinted towards the nearest body— Songred. Just as he reached the downed Riftwalker, a massive shadow fell over him. He looked up, heart leaping into his throat.
One of the pincers of the Slugbeast was wrenched out by the Liongolem and came crashing down at his position. His eyes widened, but he quickly fell to his heels and slid through the earth, evading the large pincer which smashed hard on the ground he had been standing on earlier.
Jethro glanced back for only a second before scrambling to his feet and running again. He didn't know why his legs moved, or why his chest burned with such urgency, but he was already beside Songred, dragging his unconscious body away from the middle of the battlefield.
His muscles strained, his lungs ached, but he kept going.
"Come on, you spikey-haired jerk," he muttered through grit, pulling Moffrey next. "Get your sorry asses up!"
Padva was finally on her feet, but dizzy. Jethro hooked an arm under her shoulder, half-dragging, half-supporting her as they stumbled towards the makeshift shelter. He helped her slump down beside Moffrey and Songred. Their mechbeasts gathered around, all wounded deeply.
Pott's Geargrinder Rhino, miraculously still functional despite the corrosive slime burns, carried its tamer on its back and brought him to the safe location.
Jethro wiped sweat and grime from his face and did a frantic headcount. There was one person left.
He looked over his shoulder at Mory's earlier position. She was now on her feet, holding her Sunspire Sprout. Her hands were shaking, and the plant, as though it could sense her fear, jittered uncontrollably as well.
"Mory!" Jethro yelled over the battle noise. "Over here! Come on!"
She had this pitiful look on her face like she didn't think she was going to make it. Understandably, because she was too deep in the fray.
Her legs shook with the ground when the Liongolem slammed the Slugbeast again, sending rocks tumbling around her. The Vulturefiend swooped low, its talons grazing the air inches from her head.
Mory screamed, ducking as the Howler's green sludge splattered nearby, corroding the stone.
Jethro watched, teeth grinding together so hard his jaw started to ache. 'Come on. Come on.' His Gutterling peeked from the top of the jacket, also urging Mory on silently.
Mory clutched her Sunspire tighter, sprinting toward Jethro, but the beasts' roars and the escort's molten explosions made every step a gamble.
"Listen to me!" the escort bellowed between attacks. Everyone turned to his direction, watching him duck a swipe from the beast's antlers and smash into its ribcage with his magma-covered fist, cracking bone. "This isn't a Gray Rank Rift anymore!"
Mory kept running as fast as she could, leaping over cracked earth that resulted from another slam.
"We've wandered into something far worse— Platinum, maybe higher!" He somersaulted over the Vulturefiend's attack. And when he landed, he hurled a barrage of molten shards at the Blight-Tusk Howler, searing its hide.
The Vulturefiend circled above, screeching, but he raised a hand, pulling a geyser of magma from the earth below, forcing the bird beast back.
"I've sent an emergency notice to Beastcorp. You all should get back to the Rift opening. You can't leave, but you can wait there until stronger Riftwalkers arrive!"
He immediately blocked a sludge attack with a shield of rocks, but the explosion caused him to recoil backwards, smashing into a solid wall.
Mory finally reached the boulders, collapsing beside Jethro and gasping for her. He took his eyes off the escort and turned to her. He offered her his hand, and when she saw it, she looked up at him, accepted it and let him pull her to her feet behind the cover of the rocks.
"Everyone's badly hurt," Jethro said. "Do you think you can heal them all?"
Mory nodded. "My plant harnessed a lot of aether back then so I think it can."
Jethro gave her a nod of affirmation, and she got to work. The leaves of the Sunspire opened softly and spores of light jutted out, gathering around the wounds of everyone and healing them.
Where they settled, torn flesh began to knit, bruises faded, and the anguished lines on their faces softened. A faint warmth and scent of sun-baked earth filled the small space behind the rocks.
Moffrey groaned, his hand going to his stomach where a deep bruise was rapidly fading. He looked up at Jethro, a frown on his face. "Hey, scrap boy."
Jethro turned to him, his expression carefully neutral as he expected the usual disdain.
"Thanks… for saving my life back there," Moffrey surprisingly said.
Jethro's brows raised for a moment of genuine surprise before they collapsed. The unexpected gratitude hit him like a physical thing.
"Pulling everyone to safety is my role," he replied simply. "I was just doing my role."
Moffrey scoffed, but there was no real bite to it.
Even though he didn't want to admit it to himself, Jethro felt a sense of fulfillment when Moffrey had thanked him. It was that same fleeting sense of accomplishment, of belonging, of doing something that mattered. And there was something addictive about it.
His gaze drifted over his recovering squadmates— the fierce Padva, the arrogant Moffrey. He wondered, for a brief moment; Could he ever truly be part of this? Was there a chance that he could actually be a Riftwalker?
Padva, her strength visibly returning faster than the others thanks to the healing spores, pushed herself fully upright. Without a word, she snatched two arrows from her quiver and nocked both onto her bowstring as she scanned the ongoing battle, ready to return to the battle.
CRASSSHH!
The escort fell into the earth just meters in front of them. His body was filled with blood and sand, and the lava on his fists were slowly dying off. He raised his head up at them.
"What the hell are you still doing here?!" he roared. "I asked you to leave! Return to Rift opening!"
Moffrey sat up, gripping his aether gun. "No way we're leaving you here, escort!" he said, glaring at the wounded man. "What kind of Riftwalkers would we be if we cut and ran at the first sign of real danger?"