The oxygen containers didn't have to cook for long before they burst. Oxygen was not flammable, but, if the name wasn't enough of a hint, it was an oxidant—exactly what other things needed to burn faster, hotter, and better. As soon as the canisters ruptured, there was a white-hot flash-fire that zapped across a big portion of the field, leaving little but scorched earth, glowing embers, and a mess of crookedly-perched slag, like some kind of weird modern art taking the place where robots once stood.

The fire continued to rollick elsewhere across the grass, albeit with less intensity. It was no longer a factor in the fight, but the damage had been done to quite a few robots, and even Murdoch, nearer to the front of the ship, would have likely felt the blast of hot air.

Speaking of Murdoch, he was indeed quite devastating in his face-punching endeavors, or would have been if any faces had been in reach. Egg Gunners were quite tall, and he was quite not. He did manage to really clock a few knees, though, busting legs out from under his disoriented would-be attackers. (And, guess what's becomes accessible when you bust something's legs? Its face! It was like Christmas.)

With that said, the number of active attackers dwindled down from somewhere in the neighborhood of 70 to just over 10 in no-time flat. Those that remained (i.e. those that had not been led astray by the decoy, scorched, slagged, smashed, or otherwise blown up) were on the other side of the Nocturnus ship. They soon lit up their thrusters and flew around toward where they saw Murdoch, though. Being the only one with his feet on terra firma they had yet noticed, they went straight for him, landed nearby, and lined up their sights for a full-power firing squad treatment.

And, what of their mystery helpers?

Somewhere not far away, a large number of jet-propelled robots were chasing a very fast cat into a very dense forest—a forest that had a twenty-five-foot wide section of trees strung with thin but extremely durable fiber cord. It was like a tripwire, clothesline, and spiderweb all in one, and for those pursuers who happened to get snagged on their way through, it didn't end well. Some spun out of control, into trees, others very nearly snapped entire limbs (both their own and those belonging to the trees holding the wire) before flipping to the ground in a warped mess, and others simply ran into others who were crashing unpredictably.

In short, things were going pretty well, for the time being. There was just one oddity: Some of the fallen, disabled robots (both near the ships and away) pulsed a single, slow-blinking yellow strobe light and sharp-pitched beep.

An ash-grey blur rushed out of the melted hold of the ship. Trailing heavy black synthetics-smoke like some kind of deranged mountain demigod, Coop flew in a low, tight curve around the ship and turned a wings-spread-out flight into a horizontal flying elbow. He crashed into the first of the robots, tumbling it into the two immediately next up the line, and dropped to the ground as his lift vanished.

His right arm numbed by the impact, Coop gripped the canister by its nozzle and swung it out in a backhand arc at a robot's midriff. It hit the robot with an ear-ringing TWONG, warping the spindly internal workings that were exposed in the robot's fold-out design.

As the robots' attention directly and immediately transferred to him, he over-hand-swung the cylinder at the nearest robot's head, driving the delicate electronics package back into the torso armour.

He grabbed the now senseless robot and used it for split-second cover as he recharged for the next assault.

They were actually making pretty short work of the robots. They weren't completely helpless, of course, but they weren't the fastest at target acquisition or ground maneuvering, so for the most part, the fast, close-range opponents easily did damage. Nonetheless, there were still enough of them to take reasonably accurate potshots at Coop, the biggest and most obvious target, but it was nothing the bird of burl wouldn't be able to shake off.

... And just like that, the field was silent except for the crackling fires and staggered chorus of beeps. Jet engines could still be heard through the woods, chasing whoever it was that had shown up as backup, but they were distant. Survivors began to exit the heavily-damaged Lagrange, perhaps sensing that it wouldn't be moving to hiding anytime soon. The Nocturnus ship still looked ready to fly, though, so not many were clamoring to escape it just yet.

The looming questions surely on all their minds: Why the beeping and flashing, and what now?

"She will be jus' fine."

The dingy-yellow jackal emerged from a pillared structure not far from Aga. At some point in the scuffle, he had apparently returned and weaved his way around the fight. He looked unharmed, though he wore a grave expression and spoke with urgency as he strode toward them. "It's you who will need help if you do not get out of here soon." He stopped not far from Rodolf, who seemed to be examining one of the robots, and added simply, "Distress beacons."

"Much too late," confirmed the jackal without looking at Ace. When he happened to glance back, though, his brows lowered, and his eyes locked onto his big, ugly stomach wound and stained T-shirt. He took a couple tentative steps toward him, and kind of leered a the injury, but did not approach or tamper.

"... You need to get someplace you can be tended to, bru," he mumbled distractedly, glancing between the wound and its owner's face, looking for signs of wooziness or instability from the apparent blood loss. Unfortunately, surely to Badge's disdain (as he had just been the one to ask prior), the jackal had no place to suggest. "We haven't really got anywhere to hide so many," he admitted, "but we must move somewhere, with or without your ships."

At that very moment, there was a deep, earthy krunk, and a feeling beneath everyone's feet as though someone had lightly rapped each of their shoesoles with a hammer. The ground then began to tilt, and the grass really caught fire as the whole Lagrange began to slide and sink into newly exposed lava. Apparently, it had landed on thinner ground than they had initially thought.

Their unknown helper swayed precariously at first, but then darted up the incline and made a hop across a newly exposed chasm (which seemed to go down into some lava-filled cave they definitely wouldn't want to explore), to more stable ground on the other side.

"Okay—so you willnot be taking that one."




"Hoooooly craaaaaaap what's even— LAVA, REALLY?!" shouted the distant voice of a familiar bat evacuating high above.

"This trip! ... man!"