The Bionis' leg had become Xord's territory. Like Valak Mountain, it was an area teeming with wildlife. There was also reason to believe there were more Homs hiding somewhere in the vast expanse of grass. Xord needed to make up for the batch of captives he had killed; however, there was a good chance he'd also end up eating any additional Homs he managed to find. Fortunately for him, Egil didn't seem to mind all that much.

Xord, in a show of restraint, had sent some of his lackeys off into the plains to search for displaced Homs. The Mechon brought people back with some regularity, although they didn't always bring them back alive. Xord cast the survivors into the depths of the central pit, supplying them with water but otherwise leaving them in the dark. By staying with them in the pit, he could've risked having another incident. Xord planned on contacting Egil once he had collected enough Homs to fill a passenger craft.

He stood outside the freight elevator like a sentinel, leaning on his hammer with both hands wrapped around the handle. He had discovered a second way into the mine during one of his daily patrols: a drainage outlet on the other side of Colony 6. The outlet was large enough for him to fit through, but he knew better than to try to explore the tunnels. Xord divided most of his time between each of the entrances, traveling farther down the Bionis' thigh to hunt.

Much like when he was on Valak Mountain, Xord received radio silence from Egil. Egil was a busy man, Xord supposed; the ether pipeline didn't seem to be high on his list of priorities. Thus, Xord had the apparent freedom to do as he pleased, which didn't consist much of anything at all. He had no interest in looking for Homs, even though it would've given him something to do. Unable to remember or participate in any of the things he had enjoyed before, Xord had become jaded with life as a whole. He fed, waited to grow hungry, and then fed again. He had no means of enrichment and couldn't even pass the time by sleeping. All he could do was exist.

Death didn't scare Xord anymore. His body still wouldn't let him die, though.

The sun was beaming down on Xord's armor; the breeze was whistling through his chassis. He felt none of it. If he closed his eyes—if he could close his eyes—he could pretend he was anywhere on Bionis. The sky had a blood red tint, just like it did any other day. Xord didn't need to see in color. He only needed to be able to see movement, since anything that moved was something that needed to be killed.

Filling his belly still felt good. Xord lived to eat as much as he ate to live. Killing and eating released chemicals in his brain; chemicals which, in the absence of most stimuli, were all the more pleasurable. As such, it had been a while since Xord's self-preservation system last came into effect. When he was desperate to feel something, he'd sometimes make a futile effort to cram more food down his overstuffed gullet. Nothing else made him feel good.

With so little to think about, Xord was surprised his brain hadn't simply shut itself down. His internal monologue prattled on nevertheless. There was a certain topic he tried not to think about, and every time it did breach his memory, he became agitated and out of sorts. Usually, he'd have to get up and go somewhere else. When a change in scenery wasn't enough to distract him, he'd cope through surplus killing.

But sometimes, she just wouldn't stay out of his mind.

A Sky Rhogul came to perch on Xord's shell. He held off from killing it to ponder how long he must have been standing there for it to think he was safe to land on. As he lapsed into thought, he soon forgot the bird was there. He couldn't feel its sharp talons or the way it shifted as it preened its feathers. Xord was only reminded of its presence when it took off abruptly, startling him.

He raised his hammer guardedly and checked his surroundings. The M32 Scout Unit he had come to rely on hovered up to him and signaled, transmitting a recording into his mind's eye. Two armed men were making their way down the splintered path that led to the drainage outlet. It was exactly the kind of thing Xord had been waiting for.

"Where do those idiots think they're going?" he muttered once the footage had ended. "I'll take care of this." It had been a long time since Xord last interacted with a Homs, and the impending confrontation filled him with excitement. He used to relish the moments leading up to a Homs' death, but now, he had to play the role of a silent warden and abstain from interacting with his new captives. He finally had an excuse to slip back into the role of the character he'd loved to play before.

Xord was a showman. He liked having the power to make people feel certain things and react in certain ways, and his tremendous form naturally put him in the spotlight. Xord had gotten a rise out of boasting to his first batch of captives and spilling the truth about why he'd rounded them all up. It had provoked the same kind of horror he would inspire before killing his prey, except in that case, some of the captives had lived to tell the tale.

Xord crested the mound on which the ruins of Colony 6 stood and enhanced his field of view, zooming in until he could see individual blades of grass swaying in the breeze. He scanned the splintered path, a precarious network of land bridges that cut across the sky. One misstep was all it would take to send a Homs plummeting to their doom. Xord was glad he could fly.

The drainage outlet had been installed in the face of a cliff, and was only accessible by crossing a narrow bridge. Xord spotted his targets approximately ten meters away from the bridge. He swooped down to block their path.

"Would you look at this!" Xord called out as he landed. Extending his hammer, he said, "It's dangerous up ahead. Better turn back now if you don't want to be a Mechon's dinner."

One of the Homs—bald, bearded, bespectacled—took a step back and furrowed his brow. "That's the one—the bronze-faced Mechon behind all the kidnappings," he growled. He then looked to the ground and muttered, "Damn it. I didn't expect the Mechon to know about this way in."

"So you came to rescue them, is that it? I can take you right to 'em if you want. Could use some people like you." In spite of his offer, Xord would have been hesitant to bring them into the pit. They might've had a plan.

The younger man said, "Otharon, sir, how do we proceed? I trust your judgment."

"This really throws a spanner in the works," Otharon said, shaking his head. "Come, Gadolt. We must retreat and plan our next move."

Xord pulled in his hammer. He was almost intimidated by Otharon's backbone. He seemed cocksure that Xord was simply going tolet them leave, even though Xord could crush both of them with a single blow. As easy as it would've been to destroy them, Xord didn't have any interest in making a move. "Who do you two think you are?" he snapped as the men turned the other way.

Otharon gave Xord a dismissive look. "Filthy machine. We'll come back and beat you when you least expect it. The people of Colony 6 are depending on us."

Again, Xord considered killing them—but if he did, it would show he was afraid. Xord didn't want to look weak, even if he was the only witness. No matter how much they prepared, he told himself, they couldn't possibly stand a chance against him. Still, Xord was bothered by their confidence. What could they have been hiding?

"You make me laugh, old man. What makes you think they're still alive?"

"There has to be a reason you took them into the mine. You must be up to something."

"You're a clever one," Xord said. "But if you were real clever, you'd just stay home."

"We don't have homes to return to, and you're the reason why!" There was a tremble in Gadolt's voice that made it clear he was suppressing something. Xord saw him reach for the rifle on his back, but he held off before he could get his fingers around it.

Otharon said, "Our home is Colony 6, and all that's left of it are its people. Without those people, we would have no home."

"Well, if you don't act fast, your home's gonna be in my belly," Xord said, rubbing the part of his undercarriage that covered his abdomen. He sounded less spirited than usual. His taunts and threats weren't working, but they were the only way he knew how to retaliate. Xord didn't know how to fight, least of all in a battle of wits. Why would he need to know how to win at chess if he could simply knock the pieces off of the board?

"Loathsome thing," Otharon spat, turning his back to Xord once more.

Gadolt said, "You'll regret underestimating us. Your kind will pay for what they did to Colony 6!"

"Heh. Not a chance," said Xord. "Come back when you're ready to show me what you got. I can't wait to make mincemeat out of ya."

Neither Otharon nor Gadolt acknowledged his bluster. Xord, seething with inadequacy, watched them head back across the splintered path. How had they been able to make him feel so powerless? It reminded him of the way Egil spoke to him, except the Homs didn't have a barrier to hide behind. Xord had been unable to hurt them all the same.

The encounter left him feeling even worse than before. Xord didn't feel compelled to do anything other than stand there and let his emotions simmer in his chest. He thought about the Mechon he had stationed at different parts of the Bionis' leg and wondered how Otharon and Gadolt had been able to avoid getting captured. Had they managed to incapacitate them? Xord recalled the pile of scrapped Mechon at the entrance to Colony 6, realizing the two of them had probably played a part in their destruction.

He told himself that it was no big deal; that other Mechon were small fry compared to him. Felling a single Mechon, let alone many was no small feat, but Xord had nothing to worry about. Not even the Monado—the legendary sword Mumkhar had told him about—would be able to hurt him.

So why had Xord let Otharon and Gadolt live? It might not have been mercy that he'd shown them, but he had still acted on his emotions—something Mechon didn't normally possess. It was hard for Xord to wrap his head around just what exactly he was. The Bionis and Mechonis clashed swords in his mind, neither of them ever to emerge victorious.

Xord mulled over what to do next. Would Otharon and Gadolt try to enter through the drainage outlet again? What other options did they have? Perhaps they planned on waiting for Xord to move somewhere else—although Xord had been notified of their presence while he was on the other side of the mine. He wondered if they had seen the M32 Scout Unit fly away after it had finished recording; if so, they would easily be able to shoot it down next time if they kept an eye out for it. Even if they hadn't been aware of it, it might not have been able to find its way to Xord as quickly if he had gone off in search of prey.

Xord didn't know what to expect, and it excited him a little. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been kept on his toes. He didn't know how long it would take for the Homs to return, though, so in the meantime, he'd have to fall back into his empty routine.

He looked up at the cloudless red sky and sighed.

Xord knew his limits when it came to hunting prey. The Bionis' leg was inhabited by a number of giant monsters—some even bigger than he was—but Xord avoided picking on anything he couldn't kill in one fell swoop. It wasn't worth the trouble, and he didn't have anyone to impress. Smaller monsters were easier to eat, since he could pop them right into his jaws without having to manually tear them into pieces.

He had gained a good amount of familiarity with the fauna of the Bionis' leg: he had knowledge of the behavior and temperament of most native species, and knew where in the plains he was most likely to find them.

The ethereal winged beast Xord saw in the sky one day did not belong there.

It didn't look anything like a bird, yet it looked even less like any other animal. It had an amorphous, almost gelatinous-looking form with long tendrils of light for wings. Its head was dragon-like, but it lacked a discernible face. It was crowned with two horns resembling hands with lit fingers. Even though Xord couldn't see colors well, he could tell its body had a resplendent hue. Its lower body was an amalgam of legs and fins—they didn't even appear to be functional—and there was something trailing behind it that might have been a tail. Whatever it was, it didn't look real—but it had to be, since Xord couldn't have possibly dreamed up such a bizarre, alien thing.

He couldn't take his eyes off of it. As he watched it through his magnified vision, he whispered three incredulous words: "What is that?" The thing was approaching the drainage outlet from the Bionis' knee; Xord hoped it was merely passing by. He didn't have a good sense of its scale, though he could at least tell it was far too big to eat in one bite. He'd only been able to make out its appearance by zooming in—could it even see him from so high up in the sky? Xord's Mechon body was rather conspicuous, but he could be mistaken for a metal structure of some sort if viewed from above.

The thing dipped its head, the rest of its body snaking behind it. Its trajectory was a cause for concern: judging by the angle at which it was descending, it was headed straight for Xord. He forced himself not to panic and instead pretended he was a broken machine. His entire body was still except for his eyes, which flashed brightly as he sent out an unconscious signal for mercy.

With a terrible roar, the thing discharged a branching bolt of energy. Xord, unable to close his eyes, swiveled to look away from his inevitable doom. He was rocked by an explosive impact across his back and felt something smash into his torso. Once he had processed that he was still alive, Xord folded up his body and took off into the air. He could tell right away that something was wrong: he was struggling to glide smoothly and his body kept flopping up and down like a boat being tossed around by waves. That wasn't important. He could still fly, and that was all that mattered.

There was only one place he knew he could hide: the mine. Xord rounded Colony 6 as he raced toward the freight elevator, knowing the thing was hot on his trail. The smell of its ether was so potent that it almost gave him a headache. The thing fired another energy bolt as Xord took an unexpected tumble, allowing him to dodge it. He nearly did a somersault as he dove into the elevator shaft and descended to the central pit.

The assemblage of emaciated Homs looked on in confusion as Xord skidded across the platform and spun around, hammer at the ready. He had backed himself into a corner, having been too scared to think of the consequences of entering the pit. His only option now was to fight—but the thing was nowhere to be seen. It had stopped giving chase, as if it simply wanted to drive him off of the plains. It was strange that it had acted territorial when it was clearly from somewhere else.

Xord voiced a breath of relief. It had been a humbling experience; up until then, he had felt invincible inside his Mechon body. He'd thought he was at the top of the food chain. He still didn't know what the thing was, but he hated how pathetic it made him feel. Things were supposed to be afraid of him, not the other way around. Fear was an emotion reserved for the weak; Xord should've been above it.

He didn't know when he would feel safe leaving the mine again. He wasn't in dire need of food, but he wouldn't have felt comfortable staying with the captives for more than a few hours. He had no intention of speaking to them—they were off limits.

Since he couldn't feel pain, Xord had nearly forgotten about the damage he had sustained. He rotated his head, but was unable to see past his shell. That, he realized, must have been what had taken the hit. If it hadn't been there to protect him, Xord might've taken mortal damage—assuming it was even possible for him to die.

Xord could either return to Galahad Fortress to request repairs, or suck it up and live with his dented carapace. It would be a long way back to the fortress, and he'd have to fly straight up to travel from the Bionis' leg to the Mechonis' sword. Seeing as he'd had a particularly hard time flying at a downward angle, it was possible he'd have similar issues while ascending. How much flying would he really need to do if he chose to stay?

Xord decided he wouldn't go. He didn't even have to let Egil know what had happened. It was no big deal.

Xord let out a startled cry when something behind him hit the platform with a thunderous crash. He whipped around to find his crumpled shell lying on the floor with a puddle of blood forming beneath it.

That wasn't good.

Ignoring the prying eyes of the captives, Xord—who had become noticeably lighter—trudged off of the platform and started up the path that wound around the central pit. Blood and electricity were spurting from his shoulders, but the "wounds" were soldered shut when the alloy lining his veins melted. Once he had flagged down Egil's M33 Transmission Unit, Xord looked into its camera and said, "Egil? You listening?"

It took a few seconds for Xord to get a response. "Speak, Bronze Face."

"I, uh…" The gaping mouth and unblinking eyes of Xord's Face Unit were offset by his embarrassed voice. "… I got attacked by something. It roughed me up pretty bad. Think I'm gonna need to come in for repairs."

"Attacked by what?"

"I don't know. Something weird," Xord said. "It was a big, flying thing, and it shot at me with ether bolts. Never seen anything like it."

Egil—to Xord's puzzlement—appeared to have deduced what it was. He murmured, "On Bionis' leg? But why?Surely it has not already begun!" After another few seconds of silence, a more composed Egil asked, "What is the condition of your Face Unit?"

Xord ducked to show him the absence of his shell's overhang. "The thing on my back fell off. I don't think I can fly anymore."

"This creature's appearance is a matter of grave concern. I require further information," Egil said. "I will come to Bionis' leg."

Xord was under the impression that Egil would've left him to rust if it weren't for the creature he wanted to investigate. He felt thankful for the thing, notwithstanding the fact that it was the entire reason he was in such a predicament.

Xord had some time to kill—hopefully not enough time that he'd have to kill some people. He wouldn't have a choice. Being unable to fly greatly limited his mobility, which would make it difficult for him to find monsters to eat. Xord couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he went up the freight elevator and ventured out in the plains before he ran out of ether. What would his body do if he didn't have the means to obtain food? On a different day, Xord might've considered finding out—but for now, he didn't particularly feel like dying.

He leered at the captives from above. He was subconsciously assessing which ones would be the best to eat, as if he were looking into a tank of lobsters. Among them, he noticed a familiar face: Gadolt. The man was sitting with one leg outstretched, looking dazed. He must've been brought to the central pit fairly recently, and his injuries made it clear he had put up a fight. He was holding his left arm, and his right eye was bloody and swollen shut. Xord zoomed in and scanned the crowd for Otharon, but he didn't appear to be present. Maybe the Mechon had eaten him. Xord couldn't blame them; he was insufferable.

Xord snorted in an attempt to suppress a laugh. Oh, how fun it would be to go back down to the ether rig and mock Gadolt relentlessly. Xord realized that the only thing holding him back was a self-imposed vow of silence. It seemed inevitable that he'd end up eating the majority of the Homs, so did it even matter anymore?

"Ha! So much for that rescue mission," Xord said, striking the platform with his hammer. "Now who's gonna come save you? I bet I've already eaten everyone in Colony 6!"

Gadolt's voice rose above the other captives' murmurs: "It's not over yet."

Xord laughed as he loomed over him. "And just what do you think you can do to stop me? You're running out of time, little man. Won't be long before I start feeling hungry."

"That can't be the reason you kidnap Homs," Gadolt said. "Something else is going on here."

"You got me. It's too bad I'm gonna have to eat the lot of you," Xord said under the pretense of sorrow. "All this trouble for nothing."

Gadolt furrowed his brow. "What the hell does that mean?"

Xord had no intention of providing clarification. He backed off and mumbled, "Oh well. What can you do?" With no other plans, Xord trundled around the ether rig before a disturbed audience. "Clock's ticking, Egil," he said to himself. He didn't want to do this, he realized. Or maybe he did? He couldn't make sense of the way he felt anymore. "Tick-tock," Xord said. His lines flashed. His head twitched. "Tick-tock, tick-tock." The words became increasingly slurred until they were reduced to bestial gibberish.

Xord raised his hammer like a maestro's baton; and so came a chorus of screams.

A bullet rang out amid the noise and became wedged in his shoulder joint. When Xord tried to move his arm, a terrible creaking noise sounded.

Gadolt was flat on the ground, aiming at him with a pistol. "Everyone, to the lift! It's gone berserk—now's your chance to get away!"

The captives obliged and stampeded past Gadolt.

Glancing at the pistol, Gadolt murmured, "It's not my style, but it should at least let me buy them some time. What was it doing here on the floor, I wonder?"

The bullet popped out. As Xord wound back his arm to strike, Gadolt made a dash toward the discarded shell and took shelter behind it. Xord swung at it, hooking the claw of his hammer underneath it and flinging it into the ether. His head convulsed as he drew closer to the exposed Gadolt, his chest opening wide. "… Too… bad…"

Gadolt cursed under his breath. He managed to steel himself and retaliate, firing rapidly at Xord's head. Bullet after bullet ricocheted off of his face plate, until one of them penetrated his eye. Xord howled, dropped his hammer, and toppled over as his vision glitched. While he was down, Gadolt ran to join the others.

"No," Xord sobbed, pounding the platform with his fists. "No!" His body began to fold up. Before he was fully transformed, Xord shot across the rig on his chest, driven by scent or sound or some other stimulus he couldn't consciously perceive. His undercarriage scraped against the platform, throwing up sparks, until he tumbled onto the mine's carpet of gravel and dust. Then, he launched himself forward until he was on the escapee's heels.

Practically slavering, Xord used his arms to drag himself closer. The shrieks were blaring in his receptors. The aroma of ether was overwhelming. He groped at the air blindly, reaching and clawing until his fingers closed around a body. Xord opened up his chest and sloppily forced it inside.

It wasn't enough. His mind was still gone.

Xord tipped himself forward until his jaws kissed the ground, trying to lap up the mess he had made. It took his malfunctioning brain a minute to grasp that it wasn't possible. He then shifted his position and began scrabbling wildly at nothing.

"Where… are… you?" One of Xord's eyes was dark; the other was relaying an erratic signal. His chin was rattling inside his armor. "Get in," he moaned, showing his still-bloody teeth. "Get… in… side." Unable to get his hands around anything else, Xord revved his engine and resumed his pursuit.

He slammed into a wall face-first, his shell's horn no longer there to protect him from the impact. He shoved himself back using his shoulders and dug the pointed tips of his feet into the ground as he attempted to pivot on his undercarriage. Once he had turned around, Xord crawled toward the smell of life. He didn't know where he was in relation to the rest of the escapees, but it seemed he had found someone who'd fallen behind.

Xord swiped them off the ground.

"Please, no! I have a daughter! She needs m—"

Crunch.

There was no reasoning with a machine.

As he chewed, the haze in Xord's head ebbed away. He became aware of the sensations around him; at least, the ones he was still capable of perceiving. Xord wasn't entirely blind: he could detect shapes and motion, but there were static, distorted bars superimposed on everything. He labored to get onto his feet, the joints of his deteriorating Face Unit creaking in protest. Egil was going to have a lot of work on his hands.

Xord could see well enough to make out the shape of a man standing with his arms outstretched. "I'm not going to let anyone else die," the man said in Gadolt's voice. He took a few steps back. "And I have no intention of dying, either. Come at me, Mechon. See what happens."

Xord groaned. The quality of his vision was making his brain hurt. "I'm… good for now."

"Are you scared?"

"Of course I'm not scared," Xord retorted, trying to hide his insecurity behind a laugh.

"I took you down once, and I'll do it again. You're pathetic."

Xord laughed in earnest, letting out something ghoulish and devoid of sound emotion. "But I still won," he said, his head twitching. Everything was falling apart around him and he found himself sinking deeper into his act; a caricature of antagonism through which he toyed with those he considered beneath him. His mind had become conditioned to the role, and the words he spoke on impulse were belligerent and cruel. It was as if he had become that fake person.

Xord continued, "You couldn't stop me. You couldn't save everyone. Do you think that makes you a hero?"

The vague shape that was Gadolt shrank back. "Damn you," he spat. The words were uttered with such intensity that Xord could almost feel them pierce his armor.

A voice sounded from behind them: "Enough of these games. Why quarrel over the lives of insects?"