Mace

  Defiance

  The pulse came again.

  A deep, bone-humming throb—felt not in the dirt beneath Mace’s feet but inside his ribs. Inside the unknown buried deep within him. He froze mid-step, his massive muscles going rigid, one hand braced on the rusted metal post he used as a walking stick. The world around him was quiet, the village asleep behind its patchwork walls of salvaged steel and welded hopes. But the pulse did not sleep.

  It beat like a drum calling warriors to a war long forgotten.

  Mace shuddered, breath hitching beneath the cracked filters of his old gas mask. Something inside him glowed faintly—he could feel it. A warmth spreading through his chest like molten metal, like a heartbeat that wasn’t his.

  For weeks he had brought the villagers food, tools, scraps, medicine. He watched Emma from afar, guarding her without understanding why. She was the calm in his storms, the bright thing he did not want broken.

  The warmth surged again—a warning.

  Mace tightened his grip on the metal post until it bent with a soft groan. Something was coming, hunting the girl. Even from outside the barricades, he heard the creak of the watch platforms, lanterns swaying as the night patrol moved. Their voices were uneasy whispers—too soft for human ears. But not too soft for him.

  “…did you feel that?”

  “…ground shivered—like the old faults waking.”

  “…hope it’s not another one of those metal freaks…”

  Mace’s breath fogged the inside of his mask. Fear crept in—ugly, familiar—an old companion he wished dead. His fingers flexed. His skin tightened over bone. His scars burned red. All seven feet of him went tense, giving him an even larger, more monstrous silhouette.

  He did not want to fight. He had not wanted to fight at all.

  But the pulse sharpened—

  a knife scraping the inside of his chest.

  Emma.

  He didn’t think the word; he felt it. A memory flashed: her tiny hand touching his mask, calm in the midst of chaos. Her eyes, soft, trusting. The way the pulse quieted when she smiled.

  He stepped toward the gate.

  The ground shook.

  Not the tremble of shifting plates or the distant roar of storms. A rhythmic pounding—mechanical, thunderous, approaching fast. Mace snarled, low and animal.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Then the sirens wailed.

  Lights flared along the walls as villagers scrambled into position. Heavy machine guns swung toward the north gate. Someone shouted orders. Someone screamed. Mace ran. He tore across the gravel, each stride cracking stones beneath his feet.

  By the time he reached the gate, the world was fire and motion.

  The northern wall buckled inward as something massive slammed against it—metal screeching, supports snapping. The second impact ripped the wall open.

  A behemoth forced its way through—half-mechanical, half-rotting flesh, trailing steel humidity hoses and pulsing cables torn from old military roots. Blank lens-eyes glowed blood-red. Jaws clicked open, teeth like bone saws grinding. The stench of oil and carrion filled the night.

  A Cyberbeast.

  A new model.

  Not the one he had destroyed once. Bigger. Meaner.

  Mace knew its directive: retrieve the girl.

  It sniffed the air, engines purring beneath exposed ribs. Gunfire rattled from the watch platforms—deadly bursts that ricocheted uselessly off armored plating. The creature didn’t flinch.

  But when it turned toward the figure running across the square—

  Emma.

  Mace roared. The sound tore the night open. Fear fled him. Only instinct remained.

  The Cyberbeast lunged.

  Mace did not think, did not decide. He moved.

  He slammed into the beast’s flank with enough force to crater the dirt. Its legs skidded sideways, claws gouging trenches. It snapped at him, jaws clamping like a steel trap. He punched its snout—bone, steel, and composite plating cracked beneath the blow.

  The machine staggered. Mace charged again.

  The beast struck with a serrated limb, driving it into his shoulder. The spike sank three inches into muscle, sparks erupting. Mace gripped the limb and snapped it in half.

  The beast shrieked—

  a banshee-cry of twisting metal.

  Villagers ducked behind rubble, firing useless rifles. Emma watched from behind a broken cart, trembling but unblinking.

  Mace would not let the creature near her.

  The beast swung another metal claw. Mace ducked, surged upward, and grabbed a heavy machine gun mounted on a platform. He ripped it free—bolts screaming, wires snapping. With a single arm he leveled it like a pistol.

  He fired.

  The gun spat thunder. Recoil shook the houses. Bullets tore into the Cyberbeast, denting armor, shredding cables, spraying burning coolant across the square. The creature charged through the storm of bullets.

  Mace held the trigger and walked forward through smoke and sparks, growling like a storm breaking from a mountain.

  The beast’s chest plates buckled.

  The gun heated, glowing red.

  The ammo belt ran dry.

  Mace swung the machine gun like a hammer and smashed it across the Cyberbeast’s skull. The weapon bent in half. The beast recoiled.

  Mace leapt on top of it. They crashed into the mud in a tangle of metal and muscle. The beast thrashed, claws carving trenches across his back. Mace held its jaws apart—straining, muscles bulging like knotted cables.

  A high-pitched whir: a core charging in its throat. A killing beam.

  Mace slammed his forehead into the beast’s skull.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  The glow flickered.

  He roared and tore its jaw open—wrenching the lower half free. Sparks exploded. The creature convulsed. Mace dug both hands into its exposed throat and ripped.

  The Cyberbeast spasmed, then fell still.

  Silence hit harder than the fight.

  Mace knelt in the wreckage, panting, blood dripping from wounds that steamed as they healed. His mask was cracked. His arms trembled.

  Tiny footsteps approached.

  Emma stepped from hiding, dirt streaking her cheeks, eyes wide with awe—and something else.

  Recognition.

  “You came,” she whispered.

  Mace didn’t understand the words.

  But he understood the feeling.

  Inside him, the glow—warm, steady.

  Protect.

  Protect.

  Protect.

  Mace rose, towering over the ruins of the beast he had slain. His gaze locked on the girl.

  Far away—beyond the village, beyond the hills—something else felt the glow.

  Military screens blinked alive. A new signal. A new threat classification.

  UNIT MACE — ACTIVE

  UNKNOWN ORIGIN

  UNAUTHORIZED EVOLUTION

  RETRIEVE THE GIRL

  TERMINATE THE MUTANT

  The world had shifted. And Mace had stepped fully into the war.