Boulderhelm Base, Upper Levels
Dozens of small creatures poured out from the ventilation shafts, flooding the corridor in a black, screeching tide. They swarmed over the armored units like rats over a fallen wagon, scrambling up metal limbs and clinging to joints and seams.
"AAAAAAGH!!"
It was every dwarf's nightmare.
Small creatures that made veteran pilots crash.
Little mischief-makers that cost engineers their jobs.
The bane of every workshop and factories.
Gremlins.
"KIIKIKIKIKIKIKIKI!"
Armor units swung wildly, slamming fists against their own plating, trying to shake the creatures loose. Several gremlins were flung off, tumbling across the corridor—
"Kiiiii~!"
—only to squeal happily as they bounced and scrambled back up again.
Others were far more focused.
They squeezed into the armors through tiny gaps—seams between plates, maintenance hatches, exhaust vents. Inside the machines, a gremlin's candyland awaited: dense webs of pipes, spinning gears, mana lines, pistons pumping in tight spaces.
The gremlins' eyes sparkled.
Tiny tools appeared in their hands.
Miniature screwdrivers.
Little scissors.
Bent wrenches barely the size of fingers.
They went to work with glee.
Bolts were loosened.
Pipes were snipped.
Gears were jammed with bits of metal.
Sparks erupted inside the armors, crackling wildly. Smoke began leaking from joints and vents.
From the outside, the armored units started moving erratically—jerking, twitching, stumbling like drunk giants.
BOOOOM!
One armor detonated violently, metal shards and fire filling the corridor as the pilot inside vanished with it.
"FIRE AT THEM!!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Panicked armored units opened fire in every direction, cannon rounds blasting walls, ceilings, and floors inside the enclosed corridor.
---
Main Elevator
The same chaos erupted among Crawler Team B at the massive elevator shaft.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
"THEY'RE TOO SMALL! THERE'S TOO MANY OF THEM!!" one pilot screamed as he fired wildly at the floor.
Another armor kicked frantically, metal feet slamming gremlins away—only for more to leap back on, clinging stubbornly to armor joints.
One unit attempted to escape by deploying its retractable wheels, sliding backward at high speed to shake them off.
But the elevator was cramped. Darkness everywhere. Too many friendly armors. It bumped into a spider tank and slid uncontrollably to the edge.
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!"
It fell and vanished over the side, its scream trailing into the depths below.
Inside one of the spider tank cockpits, a negotiation was happening.
A single gremlin stood proudly atop the control console, just out of reach of the Goldenclaw's pilot.
"Kii?"
It raised a screwdriver and pointed it threateningly at a console.
"N-no, no," the pilot said carefully, shaking his head. "Not that one."
The gremlin tilted its head, then moved the screwdriver toward a second console.
"Ki?"
"Well…Yeah. That one's fine," the pilot nodded quickly.
"Kiii…"
The gremlin paused, thinking deeply.
"KIIIIIII!!"
It stabbed the first console with passion.
Sparks exploded.
"NOOO! I TOLD YOU NOT THAT ONE!!" the pilot screamed.
BOOOOM!
The spider tank's cannon suddenly fired.
"Kiiii…."
The gremlin's eyes sparkled as it watched the cannon blast.
Then–
BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM!
The spider tank lurched and spun, firing nonstop in every direction. Shells slammed into walls, friendly armors, and other spider tanks.
Inside the cockpit, the gremlin squealed with delight, moving the jammed screwdriver like a joystick.
"KII! KII! KIIII!"
"SPIDER 2-1!! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" a voice screamed over comms.
"IT'S NOT ME! I SWEAR!!" the pilot cried in despair.
---
Underground Hangar
Way below the chaos, muffled cannon fire echoed through the elevator shaft.
Yet at a small table near the hangar dock, Levi, Dwordoug, and Hilda were still enjoying their tea.
This time, lemon cake had joined the table.
"But I still can't believe you actually did it," Dwordoug said between bites. "You actually managed to weaponize gremlins."
"I wouldn't say weaponize," Hilda scoffed, calmly chewing her cake. "I merely provided them with customized tools."
CRAAASH.
All three glanced briefly toward the elevator shaft as a damaged armor slammed down from above.
Spark—KABOOOOM!
The armor exploded on its own.
The trio looked away and resumed their conversation.
"But your live testing seems to be going magnificently," Levi said pleasantly, taking another spoonful of cake.
"As long as the environment is right," Hilda replied. "They can't differentiate allies from enemies. They're naturally attracted to any functioning machine."
"Ah," Levi nodded. "Hence the blackout and isolation."
Hilda nodded once, then tilted her head.
"…Hmm. I don't hear cannon fire anymore. I think they're done."
She tapped the short-range comm.
"Alright. Turn the elevator back on. Bring it down."
Moments later, lights flickered on inside the shaft. Machinery hummed back to life.
Soldiers took positions around the elevator, rifles raised.
The platform descended.
When it reached the bottom, the sight was… complete.
Armors, heavies, and spider tanks lay scattered and motionless, burning and sparking. Gremlins were still busy scrapping parts off the wreckage.
Surviving Goldenclaws pilots had abandoned their cockpits and were now running around helplessly—
—being poked with tiny screwdrivers, slashed with little scissors, or simply bitten.
"GYAAAAHH!!"
"OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!"
"LET ME GOOO! PLEASE!!"
Hilda pressed a button.
A deep humming echoed from above.
All gremlins froze.
"KIIIIII!"
They turned in unison, then scattered—climbing the elevator walls and disappearing into small steel-doored holes above.
Their cages.
The pilots sighed in relief—
—only to find themselves surrounded by soldiers with rifles aimed directly at them.
"Lock them up," Hilda ordered.
The Goldenclaws raised their hands immediately.
She switched channels.
"Surface team, move now."
"Roger that."
---
Forest Area
Back in the forest surrounding the base, several makeshift camouflaged hatches along the main path slowly opened from below.
This path had been deliberately avoided by Goldenclaws patrols—fearing explosive mines—making it the perfect place to hide.
The hatches revealed deep holes beneath the ground.
Inside each hole—courtesy of the Moth Pole prisoners—several dwarves crouched silently, weapons and equipment packed tightly around them.
"They didn't notice us," one soldier whispered, peering through the foliage while watching the black airships hovering above the base.
Engineers immediately got to work.
With practiced efficiency, they began assembling tube-like weapons mounted on tripods, working side by side with the prisoners. Metal segments locked together. Stabilizers were planted firmly into the dirt.
When completed, three dwarven cannon launchers stood ready.
They looked strikingly similar to TOW missile launchers—long, angular, and unmistakably modern compared to traditional dwarven artillery.
"Are you sure this thing will work?" one soldier asked nervously.
"How the hell should I know?!" the engineer snapped back. "We never even tested this one!"
One of the prisoners opened a reinforced container.
Inside were shells unlike any standard dwarven ammunition.
They weren't round.
They were tube-shaped, elongated, and pointed, disturbingly similar to modern Earth warheads.
The prisoner carefully lifted one shell, handling it like a sleeping animal.
Together with the engineer, he loaded it into the launcher.
The soldier slowly adjusted the aim, lining up the sight with one of the black airships floating above the base.
"Don't miss," the prisoner whispered.
"Please… let this work," the soldier muttered.
BOOOM!
BOOOM!
BOOOM!
All three launchers fired in unison.
The shells streaked into the sky in clean, straight lines, cutting through the air toward their targets.
And then—
THUNK
Direct hits.
The shells punched straight into the armored balloons of the airships.
But… nothing happened.
"YES!" the soldier exclaimed. "Direct hit!"
"One miss," the engineer reported while observing through a telescope, "two direct hits on the engine section."
"And now what?" the prisoner asked.
"And now we relocate," the soldier replied calmly, helping dismantling the launcher. "No reason to let them find us."
---
Inside Goldenclaw Airship
Inside one of the struck airships, a Goldenclaw mechanic crouched behind a support beam, bracing for an explosion that never came.
Nothing happened.
"…Is it a dud?" the mechanic muttered, cautiously peeking toward the embedded shell.
Suddenly—
The shell started shaking violently'
Metal seams cracked.
Panels split open.
"KIIIIII!!"
Ten "warhead" gremlins burst out at once.
Their eyes burned with fury—angry from being caged, shaken, and violently flung through the sky.
"WHAT THE—?!" the mechanic shouted.
The gremlins scattered instantly, squealing with manic craze as they dove straight into nearby machinery.
The mechanic lunged after them, reaching desperately—
—but it was already too late.
They were too small.
They were already inside.
---
Lead Airship
Inside the bridge of the lead Goldenclaw airship, the commander stood with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for updates from the crawler teams below.
"Sir! Incoming message from Crone 8's captain," the comm officer reported.
"Connect him," the commander ordered.
"Sir, I think we've been hit by something," the voice crackled over the comm.
"What do you mean 'you think'?" the commander snapped.
"There was a thunk, some shaking, but no explo—"
"CAPTAIN! WE'RE LOSING POWER!" another voice screamed over the channel.
"What do you me— BZZZT!"
The comm abruptly cut off.
"Captain?" the commander called. "Crone 8, respond!"
Silence.
The commander strode to the bridge window and looked out.
His eyes widened.
Crone 8 had broken formation.
The airship was descending rapidly, thick black smoke pouring from its engines as it spiraled out of control.
"What the hell…?"
The damaged airship veered toward the fjord, unable to correct its course.
It slammed directly into the cliff wall beside the water—
CRAAASH—KABOOOOOM!
"ALL AIRSHIPS!" the commander roared. "WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! SCAN FOR ENEMIES!"
The formation immediately broke apart as airships began maneuvering, turning and searching the surrounding skies.
---
Nearby Hill
From a nearby hill, Mara watched the chaos unfold through his binoculars as the black airships scattered.
"I think that's your cue, Warden."
Behind him, Cinderclaws was still wedged beneath a bulky radio machine, tightening something with visible frustration.
"Wait… ugh… just a bit more…" he grunted. "And—done!"
He slid out from under the machine, his face and hands smeared with grease and dirt.
"Power it up!" he ordered.
A dwarf engineer at the generator nodded and flipped the switch.
The engine rumbled to life.
"Come on… work, damn it," Cinderclaws muttered.
Then—
BZZZZTTT—WHIIRRR—BZZZZZZTTT
Radio static filled the air.
"It's making weird noises," Cinderclaws said cautiously. "Is it broken?"
Mara burst out laughing.
"No, Warden," he said between laughs. "That's the beautiful sound of radio static. You did a great job."
He stepped forward and began adjusting the knobs, carefully tuning the frequency.
"Now go," Mara said. "I'll take it from here."
"Alright," Cinderclaws replied, cracking his neck. "My body's stiff from all that tinkering. Some exercise sounds nice."
"Sir! The team is ready!" a prison guard–Vixen–reported.
"Well then, Ambassador," Cinderclaws grinned. "See you later."
"Have a good exercise, Warden," Mara nodded.
Cinderclaws departed as Mara leaned closer to the radio.
"To any Murican forces, this is Peregrine, come in," he said calmly.
He waited.
"I repeat, to any Murican forces, this is Peregrine, come in."
Still no response.
---
Behind the Hills
On the far side of the hills, several large bulges lay concealed beneath camouflaged tarps.
Cinderclaws, Vixen, Dancer, and several base soldiers approached them.
One by one, they pulled the tarps away.
Beneath each was a light steam-armor unit.
Unlike standard models, these were slimmer, lighter, and more streamlined.
Purpose-built.
Each of them climbed into a cockpit.
Engines ignited.
Gears spun.
Machinery hummed as smoke vented from exhausts.
Cinderclaws settled into his seat and grinned.
"Well then," he said, gripping the controls. "Those arrogant Goldenclaws have been in the sky for too long."
"I think it's time for them to be… a li'l bit grounded." He grin.
---
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