swallowing space

The cave was no longer a shelter.

It had become a forge.

Blueprints were scattered across every surface — half-drawn schematics lit by dim lamps, glowing screens showing stress loads and weight tolerances. Data pads blinked with prototype integrations and scavenged component lists.

And in the center…

Kael stood over the charred remnants of Ravager's torso, surrounded by parts stripped from old Kaiju skeletons and melted tech.

---

"We'll call it Ravager Mk. II," Oris said, voice low but sharp. "We need Kaiju-grade bone plating for armor, stabilized alloy ribs, and a new blood-core ignition chamber."

Tyren was scribbling resource needs into a long list. "We'll need at least two more corpse extractions. Stronger bones, stronger fuel systems."

"But how will you even hunt the Kaiju?" Lisette asked. "You don't have a working mecha."

The words hung there for a moment.

Everyone looked at Kael.

Kael didn't answer — because there was no answer.

None they liked, at least.

---

Until Freya stepped forward.

"You can take mine."

Kael blinked. "What?"

Freya swallowed. "Take my mecha. It's not Ravager, but it'll keep you alive."

Lisette nodded, stepping beside her. "Take all three of ours."

Kira crossed her arms and nodded firmly. "Better you use them than let them rust while we hide here."

Kael looked at Oris. "Can you do something with that?"

Oris was silent for a long moment.

Then his eyes flicked up — glowing with the spark of invention.

"Oh… I can do something."

---

For the next seven days, the cave never slept.

Oris dismantled the three mechas in under twelve hours.

Not gently — he tore them apart like a surgeon unmaking a failed patient.

He worked through cycles of exhaustion and revival, fueled by Tyren's coffee substitute and Kaiju jerky. His gloves burned through. His eyes were bloodshot. He stopped talking, stopped eating — working like a machine himself.

The girls helped where they could — sorting parts, running calculations, even sharpening Kaiju spines into frame support. Tyren handled the bone-carving, shaping Kaiju plates to resemble Ravager's chassis.

And Kael watched… silent… like a fire waiting to be stoked.

---

On the eighth morning, Oris stood up, eyes sunken and fingers trembling.

"It's ready."

He stepped aside.

There, framed in the silver mist of the early cave light, stood a singular, hulking mecha.

Ravager: Reborn.

But this was no copy.

Its frame gleamed with Kaiju-plated shoulders, bone-rib armor fused with alloy joints. The chest was thicker, with a fuel chamber reinforced by serpent-scale lining. The blade — Kael's signature — had been reforged using the spiked horns of the rhino-beast they once saw in silence.

And its core…

A new, rotating engine system pulsed faintly with liquid blood-fuel — a hybrid of Kaiju essence and combustion.

---

Kael approached it slowly.

Laid one hand on its cold leg.

And whispered, "Let's go hunting."

---

Oris handed him the data core.

Tyren clapped him once on the shoulder. "Don't die."

Kael smirked. "Haven't yet."

Lisette handed him a pouch of rations. "Come back."

Freya avoided his gaze. "Please."

Kira simply said, "Make it count."

---

Then Kael climbed into the cockpit, locked the new neural grip system, and the mecha's eyes flared to life — deep crimson, like a predator awakening.

Ravager Reborn walked.

And with it, Kael left the cave.

---

At first, the silence after his departure was nothing new.

But as minutes turned into hours…

And hours stretched into a full cycle…

Tension mounted like gravity.

They sat near the edge of the cave, scanning the mist with wide eyes, praying not to hear another distant explosion — not like before.

"What if he runs into a horde?" Kira whispered.

"What if the fuel core collapses?" Lisette asked.

"What if—" Freya started, but couldn't finish.

Tyren stood, arms folded, expression stormy. "He'll make it back."

But even he didn't sound convinced.

---

Back inside the cave, Oris sat beside the remnants of his tech bench, hands shaking, eyes bloodshot.

"We built him a weapon," he muttered, voice flat. "But we also sent him out alone."

Trask sat nearby, sharpening a broken blade. "Some men aren't built to work in groups."

"And some machines," Draan added, "are born to be wielded by one man only."

They all looked out toward the fog-drenched horizon…

Waiting.

Praying.

Knowing full well that if Ravager falls again…

Unit 404 might never rise.