Metallic Knights: Short Stories

I like General's method of specifically pitting robot masters against each other to improve one or both of them and doesn't tell them. It makes the battle and lessons learned more authentic I think. If a robot master went into a fight with the aim of "teaching" rather than winning, the fight might not be representative of what a combat master can truly do.

[Took a long-ass hiatus from writing. Figured a nice MK short story, or an elongated excuse to have a cool fight rather, would be a nice way to revive my brain muscle.]

“... That's what I’m saying! Why doesn't Pastoral just up some posters, hype up the fight, and wipe Hymn across the sim room floor?” Solo ranted, haunting next to the intrigued Octave as they paced across the barren dirt of the Wastes just on the outskirts of Able City.

“I dunno. Pasty’s kinda weird about that douche. Maybe he’s afraid he’ll lose, which is ridiculous. Only thing scary about Hymn is breaking a rule so he can cry to General.” Octave replied, laughing loudly as he jest echoed into nothingness. Between the two powerful, field-tested masters, getting attacked outside the safe walls and barrier of New Harmony would be short work, allowing them time to relax.

Solo sighed after a decent laugh, raising his hand as he opened his mouth to continue the amusing conversation. Before he could do so, however, an explosive crashing rang out through the wilds around them, drawing attention the the ruin city’s skyline as one of the taller skyscrapers came crumbling down.

The decomposition of Able City was common, and tumbling buildings became no more than spectacles parents would walk their kids to view from the tops of New Harmony’s vast, encompassing wall. When Octave was new and awed by the world, the skyline was dense and stretched across the horizon, and the decay of hundreds of years had decimated its former perceived glory.

But this was different. The buildings in the city were spaced generously, and the collapse of buildings had never before been victim to the domino effect before now. Additionally, the domino effect rarely brings down adjacent structures at the same time.

“I guess we should go check that out.” Octave sighed as he crushed a thin layer of dust off the arm, revealing a fresh coat of even and shimmering paint.

“You run ahead, I’ll find a vantage point.” Solo plotted casually, their duo operations frequent enough that this maneuver practically went without saying.

But this encounter would prove to be far beyond casual, or even common. If memories could outlive those who experience them, this would be Solo and Octave’s.

The lightning quick blue master barreled down the crack and faded pavement of the once driven street, leaping leisurely over obstacles of debris and desolate cars as he darted forward. Within minutes Octave had traveled more than a mile into the city to the site of the demolished buildings to investigate needlessly. The villain was standing there, gazing upon his work.

From behind, where Octave approached, the culprit was obviously a master or malevolent of some sort, thick armor around his chest, forearms, and shins. The thin, defenseless limbs, the upper legs and arms, made him appear to be wearing protective gear much too large for him, a common design style for pre-war robot masters who had re-activated confused and usually insane. His armor was a pale and chipped orange, with white arms and legs and what seemed like drills in place of hands.

“I understand you'd get the impression it's okay to blow these buildings up, seeing we usually fight baddies around here and break shit left and right. But, I think this city counts as a historical landmark, so if you could stop blowing these up, that’d be-” Octave started, cut off by the rude intrusion of the mysterious master.

“Stop? Why would I stop?” The master asked in a calm, but unsettling tone without turning, his eyes likely fixated on the wreckage sitting in front of him.”

Octave looked around at the destroyed buildings, three in a row had tumbled to their foundations, peppering surrounding buildings with chucks of deteriorated materials all over. Smoke rose from the piles and flew into the air like signal fires telling all nearby carnage was underway.

“Mostly because you shouldn't hold grudges against buildings. They don't do much.” Octave’s visor and mouthguard slid into place over his eyes and mouth as his shimmering blue saber activated with an electronic hum, his humanoid right hand pulling itself apart and retracting into his forearm to release the hilt of his blade. His stance widened, his feet facing in non parallel positions to stabilize his body as he held his left hand palm in front of his, arm straight, while his saber remained next to his head, arm bent.

“You make jokes about another’s passions without knowing their love for the art you see before you.” The stranger observed, strangely.

“You talk weirdly, without knowing how freaked out you make people who hear you.” Octave shot back, his stance unflinching and his eyes affixed to his target.

The master turned to reveal a orange orb protruding from his chest, just a touch darker in color than the rest of his armor, and in a lot nicer condition. His helmet was attached with a forward pointing white tip just above where it revealed his Caucasian-tone face and widened eyes.

“I awoke in a world more in need of my services than the one I retired from. Many buildings needed to be destroyed, blown up, sent crashing to the ground, because they were old. They needed to clear away the bad to raise these very towers that stand before us. But now, much of these buildings I helped create are decrepit and disgusting. Just like you in your thin. Weak. Frame.” The master drones on, ending with his drill-hands pointing directly at Octave, mere meters in front of him.

Octave’s pose straightened, unbending his legs and letting his hand and saber rest near his sides as his head tilted.

“Wait. How do you blow up buildings with just drills. Because, well, that's just impressive.”

“Wanna see?”

The master’s drill detached from his forearm, another quickly taking its place as the first flew through the air at Octave. The quick master spun himself as he stepped to the side, hastily dodging the projectile and turning to watch as it hit, exploded, and totally demolished a small store just across the street.

“Oh. See, that helps. I'm more of a visual learner.” Octave returned to his former position, facing his opponent before leaping forward, pulling his saber towards the inside of his body and slashing outwards at the master’s right side.

Without fear of Octave’s mighty saber, the enigmatic enemy simply raised his arm, stopping the energy blade completely with barely a scratch to his gauntlet armor, stoically unmoved by the attack. Seeing this, Octave hopped back.

“What did you used to do? Stand in buildings as you blew them up?” Octave joked, worrying internally as to how effective his blade will be in the coming fight.

“Yes. I am CRASH MAN! DESTROYER OF BUILDINGS! Fear my impenetrable wall of armor capable of withstanding nuclear blasts, let alone measly swords!” Crash Man exclaimed, his drill-hands raised in the air triumphantly.

“Uh-huh… Solo?”

Without a word over the communications line, Solo fired a shot from his multi-buster, a weapon capable of transforming itself into all manner of firearm types. The specific type, the long-buster, was a sniper rifle that fired energy-based rounds meant to take out thick malevolent frames and sometimes small buildings for fun.

The shot rang out from the short rooftops of nearby stores and Main Street houses. Crash Man shot his glance at that direction as the shot hit its mark at center mass, meaning to blow the frame apart while leaving the integrated circuit inside Crash Man’s skull intact. The round bounced off with a loud cracking noise as it ricocheted into the nearby rubble, blowing it into the sky, adding to the smoke polluting the air.

“~That's not good.~” Solo commented over the radio, his redundant claim causing Octave to look over at him, leering through the shining glass of his visor.
 
“No shit!”

Crash Man hastily rose his arm once more and fired while Octave was looking away, but at the ground in front of him. The blast sent the blue master falling on his back, but using the momentum of the fall he rolled over his shoulder and regained his footing well before the dust before him settled. Crash came leaping through the cover of smoke, slashing at the much faster Octave with his drills before attempting to fire directly at him from a close range. Octave side-stepped the shot and moved on for a more fatal attack than his last: a slash to the weaker exposed neck where his armor ended to allow efficient head movement.

Proving more effective than his last effort, Octave let out an audible sigh of discouragement to realize that his thin and exposed “weak points” were armored enough to efficiently defend against his saber as well. With a laugh, Crash Man jumped into the air, his drill-hands pointed downward, and fired, launching himself up higher and Octave backwards even further. This time, however, the blast was too close for him to roll and recover from.

On his back, injured, exposed, and with a newly ruined paint job, Octave looked straight up into the sky to see a barrage of drill missiles descending straight on top of him. With indirect blasts powerful enough to shake his incorrectly titled “weak” and “thin” frame, this many direct shots had a decent chance of killing the hero.

“Time-Skimmer!” Octave blurted out too quickly to make out into intelligible speech, but it was enough to activate the ability in his frame.

From Crash Man’s perspective, it seemed as if Octave was teleporting, almost too quickly to see, between the missiles in the air and towards him. In actuality, Octave’s supremely advanced frame allowed him a form of short-range time travel, to move between seconds as time stopped for short bits of time.

After only few seconds, while still in and falling through the air, Crash Man had lost track of his target, just as his barrage hit and totaled the street below him. Suddenly, a pair of thick metal boots slammed down onto his feet, pushing down to earth at an alarming speed, and within a moment he was face-first in the simmering pavement he had just drill-’sploded.

As he rose, Crash Man awkwardly used his drill-hands to wipe away bits of floor from his face. Once fully upright, he looked in front, behind, and to the left of him with no sight of Octave. He turned his body to the right, just in time to see an ancient, rusted, and recently thrown vehicle come at and impact his face, sending him skipping down the street like a pebble on a still like along with what seemed to be a truck.

No matter how thick the armor, blunt facial damage at that level was bound to knock a few bits of hardware loose in anyone’s skull. In the moments it took Crash Man to compose himself, he was already hearing the taunting from Octave as he strolled down the street.

“Hey! Mr. Compensation! Think your mighty frame’s ready to cut yet, or does it need more integrity loss? I-I can look for some more trucks if ya want, but me might not wanna waste that one yet. That model’s pretty rare now.” Octave yelled down the street as he heard Solo giggle from behind the comm relay.

Atop a nearby building, Solo’s ineffectual long-buster’s scope was fixated on Crash Man’s face, ready to distract should the fight start to go against Octave’s favor.

“So… Why’d they call you Crash Man? Was Demolition Man taken? Too long? Too direct? Too sane?” Octave, now closing in on the still recovering Crash Man, stopped, readying himself for an onslaught of missiles in retaliation.

“I… Did not awaken… Too be MOCKED!” Crash Man regained composure suddenly from a fatigued position, his chest gem splitting in half and revealing a chest cannon about as wide as his actual chest. From inside the barrel a bright yellow light shone out, so bright that it threatened to outshine the late-afternoon sunlight basking down on the city.

From the cannon, a thick laser shot straight outwards, destroying the debris in its way of Octave, and when the swordsman jumped out of the way, it melted through everything else in its path as far as the eye can see.

But Crash Man’s ultimate attack was not a one shot pony, as Octave dodged, Crash pivoted his chest to lead the laser to follow him, demolishing a good portion of the city around them. As Octave jumped around, avoiding being smitten by the attack, he noticed that, as he leapt over the laser, the very tip of his saber touched the light and redirected it.

With the plan set in motion in his mind, Saber Man began avoiding the last in a forward motion, leaping from side to side of the beam as he gained ground on Crash Man. Eventually, when he got close enough, Solo contributed another powerful but ineffective shot to Crash’s head with just enough power to tilt his body away from Octave long enough to allow him to drive his saber home, placing the thickest part to the flat side of his sober directly in front of the laser beam barrel. The reflected attack shot inward, quickly blowing Crash Man and Octave away.

“Octave!” Solo cried, leaping from the building and dashing as quickly as he could toward the smoke and dust of the explosion. On the floor, battered but not broke, was Octave. His visor was cracked, his synthetic skin was burnt, and his paint job was officially ruined, but he was okay.

“That… that was a weird one.” Octave stated weakly as Solo assisted him to stand.

As the smoke cleared, bits of Crash Man’s frame came into view, his arms, legs, drill hands, and finally, his head and upper torso, all in much worse and more dismembered than Octave’s.

As Octave and Solo walked to his body to extract the integrated circuit as protocol dictates, they notice a good chunk of his skull had been blown apart, his fractured circuit exposed and in the process of shutting down.

“I… loved this city…” Octave and Solo jumped, re-arming their weapons as they stood in shock that Crash was capable of speech.

“Did not all masters lockdown after massive damage?” Solo asked Octave, who shrugged and leaned in to hear what Crash Man had to say.

“I destroyed the ugly… to make room… for the beautiful… the doctor… would show me every building I helped create… and shut me down until I was needed.” Crash Man’s integrated circuit was dying from the damage, and as it did, his voice began to deepen and slow.

“... and now… all I see is… ugly… the beauty is gone… all gone… all…”

“Wow. I almost feel kinda bad for the old… Wait, Octave.” Solo paused in place as he watched Octave grab the dying master in his hands and dash off down the street full speed without saying a word.

In mere moments, as the last of Crash Man’s cranial functions began to fade, Octave reached the top of the nearest Able City skyscraper Crash didn't blow up and pointed his head toward the horizon. Towards New Harmony.

“Everything here is ugly because… Well, because they moved all the beauty somewhere new.” Octave spoke softly as he held Crash’s broken remains in front of him.

Unlike Octave or Solo, Crash Man wasn't a forged soul. He wasn't trapped in the domain, and his consciousness wasn't something born, but rather made. He lived his life before the war doing what he was built to do like a machine. But Octave figured, if pre-war masters like Crash didn't have souls, then why would he find beauty in the destruction he caused? Was it because he wa programmed to, or was Crash Man part of a line of robot masters that evolved into his current stream of consciousness?

Either saw the beauty of humanity's last hope in the last moments before he shut down.

Deep, thunderous impacts resounded like drum beats throughout a dented, cratered, otherwise grassy and serene field. Beyond the tall, hard light fences, several citizens watched with binoculars and remotely controlled drones; this was a Robot Master only zone for outdoor sparring. A human coming near without protective equipment would be incredibly dangerous.

Several soldiers guarded the perimeter, making sure idiots didn't jump the fence and get themselves killed. One of the soldiers lifted a tactical pad when it loudly buzzed. He looked into it, furrowing his weather worn brow. "On your toes, soldiers! Two Robot Masters, inbound!"

Seconds later, a brown blur slammed down against the grass, followed by a similar blue glow. Pastoral and Octave looked at each-other, resuming the conversation they'd been having before they teleported.

"It just seems dumb. I want to fight someone up close and personal, not fight a bunch of guys in a mosh pit." Octave complained at Pastoral, who raised his visor to look him in the eye.

Octave seemed visibly annoyed to have been dragged out here, but Pastoral was taking his complaints in stride, as ever. "It sounds dumb, but it's really fun. It's, like, an old ritual Chord told me about from when he was fielded in battle. Shouldn't you at least try it before writing it off?"

Before Octave could continue the verbal spar, the guard's leader stepped forward, his mustache crinkling as he pursed his lips to speak. "Excuse me. I've been told to inform all Robot Masters to refrain from the use of any tool enhancements, firearms, or abilities. Scans indicate that you, PulseMan, are in possession of one Polar Star-V variant arm cannon, and one unregistered, custom built firearm with a fusion power source."

"It's unregistered because Dr. Manhattan recently installed it. The Eastern Arms Ministry put it together a few months back. I'm doing a testing run." Pastoral grinned, lifting his right arm and shaking it; in an instant, the working parts formed his lethal, golden arm cannon. The nearby civilians yelped in fear, and Pastoral put it away. "Sorry, folks. I was just showing him my weapon." After Pastoral calmed them down, there were a few scattered claps of applause.

"Well, you're not testing 'em here. If you discharge either of your guns, even by mistake while humans are within sixty meters of the fence, we'll have to remove you from the premises. Multiple infractions will result in your transfer to a non-combat body until arbitration is complete." The stern man stood with shoulders squared, as if trying to intimidate Pastoral. While physically smaller, Pastoral didn't seem very threatened.

"Hah." Octave snorted. "Guess you can't use your guns, bro. Sucks for you."

"Actually, it sucks for you as well. Scanners indicate you have a modified Era One Light Spear in your lower right arm...wait, that can't be right..." As the security guard tapped away at his pad, Octave turned to Pastoral.

"What's he mean, 'spear?' My arm's a sword, dorky meatbag."

"Yeah, but your sword's housing and generators are built from a modified light spear that humans used to use to fight Malevolents. Y'know, before they had us Robot Masters." Pastoral was ever the history buff; fusing with Album to help him organize damaged files rubbed that effect off on him.

"Huh. Neat." Octave activated his weapon, his blade stretching up and glowing. The security guard jumped with horror.

"Hold the fucking phone. That's powered by nuclear energy?"

Octave gave the man a confused, incredulous look. "Well yeah. It's microfusion. Robot Masters run on it, and my sword runs on a shitload of it. Y'know. To cut through those Malevolents that you don't have to fight. Thank you, microfusion, thank you Octave's arm, thank you Octave. Stop wasting our time and get out of our way."

The security guard furrowed his brow, and dipped a hand into his belt. "What's he doing now?" Octave asked. The security guard reached out, and placed a small object on Octave's arm. Suddenly, Octave felt a numb feeling in his forearm.

Octave Diagnostic Readout:

"What the fuck...?" Octave shook his arm, then gripped the object on his arm. It was black, and shaped like a hockey puck. When Octave tried to pry it off, he felt his fingers lose strength. "Is it a bug? I don't like bugs. Get it off."

"That is a weapons system disabler. It disables all weapons systems in an uncooperative Robot Master. It's got a subroutine, preventing the affected robot from removing it of their own volition. Whenever you try to grab it, your fingers won't grip it. Try to strike it, and you'll miss." The security guard drew a piece of gum from his pocket, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing smugly. "It will automatically deactivate in twelve hours."

"Uncooperative? The fuck didn't I cooperate with? I didn't do anything, you motherf-"

"It's fine, Octave. Twelve hours without your sword won't kill you. It's not like we're in the field." Pastoral shrugged. "Besides, we won't be using our weapons anyway."

Octave tried to activate his saber, and the inner workings of his arm visibly flexed, before the activation failed and he was left with his humanoid arm. "Fuck you, dude." Octave pointed at the security officer who had effectively booted his weapon. With that, he and Pastoral bent at the knee, and jumped. Hurtling thirty meters into the air, they grasped the edge of the fence and dropped down. The air whistled past them until they landed on the ground on the other side of the fence, kicking up dislodged grass and dirt. The two sauntered away from the fence, leaving the security guard to bask in his victory.

---

"I can't believe that guy. I ought to send his nose-bone into his brain." As Octave spoke, Pastoral shot him a scathing look. "What? I was gonna say I can't do that. Robot Master. Besides, it'd be too easy. And messy. They're all like play-dough. How do they even stand up?"

"Dr. Manhattan is a human," Pastoral calmly intoned. "So was Monday."

Octave visibly seethed, giving Pastoral a half-hearted shove. "They obviously don't count. Why you gotta be so freaking moral?! That guy booted my saber! United front!"

Pastoral nodded. "You're not wrong about that human being a jerk. He reminds me of a certain, purple, out-of-practice S-Rank."

"Ugh. Bringing up Hymn is just gonna make me more pissed off." Octave folded his arms, his fists audibly tightning, like leather gloves against handlebars.

"Good. The whole point of the ritual is to vent aggression, so you can see clearly during battle. Get as mad as you want, as long as you don't use your saber."

"I CLEARLY CAN'T USE MY FUCKING SABER, PASTORAL."

"Oh. Right. Well, then we're set." Pastoral grinned as Octave glared at him. As the two spoke, they walked towards the staging area for the brawl. "Oh, and try not to let Chord hit you full on. You've never been punched by him in a controlled environment. It might put you offline for a few seconds."

Octave rolled his eyes. "Yeah right. I've been hit by literal wrecking balls and held my ground. Beyond that, even without Time-Skimmer, I can dodge that old guy all day."

"If you say so." Pastoral and Octave both shuddered when a deep, resonating impact shook the ground. It sounded like the brawl was already going on. The two made haste, sprinting towards the source of the noise.

Author's Note wrote:Is Octave's confidence well placed? How successful will the brothers be in a free-for-all battle without their weapons? Find out next time!

As expected, the melee had already begun in force. Sparks flew as Industrial and Combat Masters alike sparred. Octave watched for a moment, unimpressed as Pastoral bounced on his toes, getting ready. "So, do we just jump in or somethin'?"

"Hold on. I'm betting Chord's gonna call us out." Pastoral watched patiently as a tremendous yellow Robot Master in the distance fought with a spry red combatant.

ThermoMan paced around, throwing heavy, rapid kicks. He was grossly outsized by his opponent; Chord, named ForeMan during his working hours, was over a dozen feet tall, stooped and serious with powerful, bulky limbs. As ThermoMan thrust a powerful roundhouse, Chord simply batted it away, knocking ThermoMan off balance.

Chord grinned, and simply dropped a hand down onto ThermoMan's helmet, jarring the robot to his knees. "Get lost, shrimp!" Lifting ThermoMan to his shoulder, Chord tossed him high into the distance. He watched the robot turn into a red speck over the horizon. Had Chord used his ability, the Deluxe Arm, Thermo Man may have stricken the barrier dome of the city. Turning, the brutal old craftsman spotted Pastoral, his eyes widening. He broke out into a massive grin when he saw Pastoral's brother. "THE TWINS! I've been waiting to beat both of you down at once!"

"...You callin' me out?" Octave raised his eyebrow, bemused. He turned to Pastoral. "Pastoral. He called me out. Confirm?"

"Indeed. As I informed you before. He's callin' us out."

"YOU CALLIN' ME OUT?!" Octave turned his furious gaze towards Chord.

"I'M CALLIN' YOU OUT!!!" Chord, affirming his position on the matter, stomped forward, fists clenched. In a display of agility and grace that astounded Octave, Chord rolled over his shoulder, then beat both fists into the ground, the force sending him nearly thirty meters into the fresh air, his silhouette black and vague against the blue sky and white clouds.

Pastoral lowered his visor as Octave glanced between Chord and his brother, genuinely astounded. "...Is he wearing a jetpack?" Octave scratched his head. "Did he just punch jump?"

"...If we don't move, he might actually kill us when he lands." Pastoral blew air through his teeth, turned, and jogged away. Octave stood there for a moment, eclipsed by the shrinking shadow of the falling Chord. The man had turned in the air, and was pointing both fists towards the earth, like he intended to swim through the ground. Octave, taking a cue from his brother, sprinted in the opposite direction.

In a deafening landing, Chord cratered the grass Octave was standing on. The force sent him hurtling away. Landing on his hands, Octave spun to his feet. "HOLY CRAP! THAT WAS AWESOME!" Octave suddenly noticed the ground underneath him was cracking, and his feet were being dragged apart by a tear in the dirt. Chord had indeed swum through the soil. He exploded up from under Octave, who stepped on his shoulder as the brute charged forward, clearing his face.

Pound for pound, Octave was damn sure he was facing the strongest opponent he'd ever seen. Balancing, Octave jumped from Chord's shoulder and stomped down on his head, scoring a kick. Chord reached up and pinched the sides of Octave's winged helmet. Holy shit his fingers are like tuna cans. Before he knew it, the blue Robot Master was slammed face first into the dirt.

"I GOT 'EM OCTAVE!" Pastoral lurched forward, dropping a savage elbow onto the top of Chord's head. The surprise attack actually managed to stun the huge yellow robot, allowing Octave to get up and get clear.

As Pastoral rallied to throw another attack, he was stricken from the side by a silver blur. Another Robot Master, HammerMan, blindsided Pastoral, throwing a right hook into the robot's cheek. "I like sneak attacks too, kid!" Pastoral quickly moved to his feet, preparing for a fair fight.

"Fuck 'em up, Pasty!" Octave took his eye off Chord. A huge mistake.

Octave turned just in time to see a titanium plated fist the size of a watermelon. It made contact with his chest. Octave's ribcage folded almost completely flat, his core rattling and temporarily shutting down under the force of the blow. His body swung backwards, landing in his back embedded in the dirt. "HUGZZT."

For a moment, everything was dark while Octave's systems rebooted. Jerking upright and to his feet, Octave reloaded his previous build and accessed what the fuck was going on in a millisecond. "HOLY SHIT! You almost killed me!"

Chord grinned and shrugged. "I thought tagging you would be harder. Your brother said you're fast!"

Octave nodded. "Oh, I'll show you fast." The blue Robot Master paced on his feet, before bursting forward. Chord raised his defenses, guarding his head as Octave peppered the robot with kicks from every angle. Octave's shin drummed against Chord's back, then he leaped, turned, and hammered another into the side of the robot's head. Chord, spotting Octave through his tight guard, threw an uppercut at the robot.

In a display of technical mastery, Octave caught Chord's massive arm, turned in mid-air, stepped on Chord's back, and arched so hard that it made him punch himself in the face. Dropping low, Octave rammed his shoulder against the back of Chord's leg. As the yellow Industrial Master fell backwards. Octave jumped, slamming both fists down on Chord's chest and driving him onto his back. For a moment, it seemed Octave had the advantage.

Meanwhile, Pastoral was getting the better of his opponent. Stepping in close and drilling his right fist into HammerMan's armored torso, he took the advantage. As HammerMan moved forward with a swing, Pastoral grasped his waist, moved behind him, and suplexed HammerMan into the dirt. Buried face-down up to his waist, HammerMan angrily kicked his legs. Pastoral turned to see Octave standing on Chord's chest. "WOOOO HOOOOOO! We're winning!"

"Fuck yeah!" As Octave gleefully performed a victory dance on Chord's abdomen, the yellow robot reached up and grabbed the back of Octave's head.  Chord turned Octave's face towards his, headbutting the blue robot. "OW..." Octave gripped his broken nose; it'd take a minute or two before autorepair could fix the damage. Lifting Octave like a baseball, Chord pit brother against brother, hurling Octave directly at Pastoral, who wasn't quick or wily enough to dodge.

Octave thudded against Pastoral, landing on top of him. Chord, standing over the brothers, grasped HammerMan by the legs, lifting the silver master. Chord examined him. "Your helmet kinda looks like a hammer. I always wondered if it'd work like a hammer."

"DON'T DO IT, BOSS!!!" HammerMan thrashed and squirmed as Chord lifted him to smash Octave and Pastoral.

Octave covered his face, cowering for the first time in quite a while. "PASTORAL! BLOCK IT!"

"I don't have a shield, and you're on top! YOU BLOCK IT!" Pastoral threw his arms over his helmet and pulled himself into a fetal position, hoping that Octave would take the brunt of the assault. Chord, laughing maniacally, prepared to administer a beat-down that he'd remember fondly for decades.

Bad John wrote:Looks like them Robot Boys are up to no good. Who will come out on top in this robotic brawl? What will Octave learn from the outcome? Will HammerMan ever forgive Chord for taking the "Man" out of his name?

Find out in the third and final installment of this short series.