Tatehan felt his eyes almost explode at the mention of the Obscuron.

'Son of a —'

This bastard had inflicted massive damage just days ago: unleashed monsters across the city, killed hundreds, destroyed infrastructure, left scars that would take months to heal. And now he was doing it again, escalating the violence, pushing harder, showing the city ( and probably the entire planet) that he could strike anywhere, anytime, with impunity.

Tatehan's jaw clenched as he stared at the feed, watching the mech tear through the eastern district like it was made of paper. Buildings collapsed under its weight. Vehicles were crushed beneath its massive feet. Civilians scattered in every direction, their screams lost beneath the roar of destruction.

But even as anger surged through him, hot and boiling, Tatehan forced himself to breathe, to think and to not let emotion cloud his judgment.

This wasn't like fighting Behemoths or shadow goblins. This was something else entirely. A machine. A weapon designed specifically for warfare, for sieges, for overwhelming force.

He couldn't face it head-on. He Couldn't just charge in with fists and chakrams and hope for the best. That would get him killed, and it would accomplish nothing.

He needed to be tactical and strategic. He needed to find the mech's weakness and exploit it.

The commander's voice cut through his thoughts, her tone heavy with frustration and resignation.

"I don't think humans can defeat this," she said quietly, almost to herself. "If only we had a mech of our own."

Tatehan's head snapped up.

That was it.

An idea crystallized in his mind, it was sudden and sharp, pieces clicking together with startling clarity. It was risky. Maybe even insane. But it could work. It had to work, because they didn't have any other options.

"Call the rest," Tatehan said abruptly, his voice cutting through the room. "I have a plan. I think. If only we can execute it."

The commander turned to him, her expression sharpening with something between hope and skepticism.

"The rest?" she asked. "Who?"

"Torvan and Lyra," Tatehan replied.

Torvan was the head of all tech-related operations at the Red Crest Clan: the man who designed their weapons, maintained their vehicles, and understood the intricacies of every piece of equipment in their arsenal. If anyone could help Tatehan pull this off, it was him.

It was Torvan who had helped consort and control the tiny almost invisible bombs that had went before them and exploded vital parts of the obscuron's half fortress.

The guy was actually a really valuable dude in clan. He was even more valuable than Tatehan if we're being honest. Though Tatehan had lead really tough missions and came out on top, it all leads back to Torvan here.

Though at the moment, Tatehan was currently the most important and useful person in the clan, Torvan was…eh… Timeless! In his own way.

The commander didn't hesitate. She pulled up her comm device and made the call, her voice clipped and urgent as she summoned both of them to her office immediately.

Less than a minute later, the door slid open, and Lyra and Torvan stepped inside.

Lyra looked alert, her expression calm but… looking ready, her cybernetic enhancements glinting faintly in the dim light of the office. Torvan, on the other hand, looked slightly disheveled, like he'd been pulled away from some project mid-work.

That seemed to be it, the guy was probably building a really cool weapon. Something if he could finalize, would be what he would base lots more weapons of the same type with, before he was summoned.

His clothes were stained with grease, and his hands carried the faint smell of soldering flux.

Both of them nodded politely in greeting, their eyes flicking to the screen behind the commander, taking in the destruction playing out in real-time.

Tatehan didn't waste time with pleasantries.

He turned to Torvan first, his gaze sharp and focused.

"Which weapon do you think can help lift that thing into the sky?" he asked.

Torvan blinked, clearly surprised by the question. He glanced at the screen again, his eyes narrowing as he studied the mech, his mind already working through the logistics.

"Lift it?" he repeated slowly, as if testing the words to see if they made sense. "You mean... propel it upward? Off the ground?"

"Yes," Tatehan said. "What do we have that can do that?"

Torvan scratched his chin, his brow furrowing as he thought. Then, after a moment, his expression shifted— probably realization dawning or something like that.

"We have a device," he said slowly, his tone uncertain but gaining confidence as he spoke. "It's called a Thrust Anchor. Circular design, about a meter in diameter. It's meant for salvage operations: lifting heavy debris, moving structural components, that kind of thing."

He gestured vaguely, as if sketching the device in the air.

"You attach it to the target, activate it, and it generates a concentrated burst of propulsion. Half fire, half energy-based thrust. It's strong enough to lift several tons vertically, maybe even launch something into low orbit if the conditions are right."

Tatehan's eyes lit up.

"Perfect," he said. "Can it latch onto the mech's back?"

Torvan hesitated, his expression growing uncertain again.

"Theoretically, yes," he said. "But..." He trailed off, glancing back at the screen, at the massive, armored form of the mech. "I don't think it'll be able to lift that thing. Not something that heavy. The Thrust Anchor is powerful, but that mech has to weigh at least fifty, maybe sixty tons. Even with full thrust, it wouldn't budge."

The man was right, while the thrust anchor wounded like the answers to their problems now:

'Yippe!, let's latch the stuff and call it a day.'

It was only possible for something else, not this mech.

But then, Tatehan's expression didn't falter. If anything, his confidence seemed to grow.

"It will," he said simply.

Torvan blinked, confused.

"How?"

Tatehan met his gaze, his voice steady and certain.

"Because I have gravitational powers."

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