Magic & Machines: The Kill

Magic & Machines:
The Kill

         The tank roared down the last rocky hill and into the wooded valley.  It came to a stop next to a small, clear stream, and the engine died.  It was a smaller, one-person tank, but it's thick armor looked like it could withstand an avalanche with no problem.  It had a huge cannon offset to the left of the rotating turret, and it had four independant treads to help it navigate the slippery terrain with ease.  Hanging on various places around the chassis were heads, horns, tails, and other various trophies; symbols of previous victories.  A small circular hatch in the front flipped open, and the barrel of a sawed off shotgun with an axe blade attached to the bottom poked out.  It swung left and right, and then was followed out of the hatch by a steel helmeted head cautiosly scanning the surroundings.  With no currently visible threat, the rest of the heavily armored body followed the head, and landed heavily on the ground.
         Axelas was big, especially for a dwarf.  This isn't to say he was tall, just that he was wide.  The combination of his broad shoulders, thick arms and legs, and the full body steel plate armor that he wore gave the impression of a small section of a fortress wall wandering around on it's own.  His dark skin and thick black dreadlocks and beard gave him an especially fierce look that looked out of place at nights at the taverns, where he was usually singing innaccurately, but full bodily, after a few pints.  He usually had quite a few pints because the other patrons would constantly buy him rounds, because when the inevitable brawl started, they wanted to make sure Axelas was on friendly terms with them, unless they wanted to be using crutches for the next few months.
         Axelas wasn't your typical dwarf, not that there was such a thing.  Dwarves were generally found in garages, factories, or engine rooms; anywhere mechanically inclined.  While they knew their way around in a fight, they were widely reknown as engineers, and usually let their machinery speak for them, especially when they wanted to say "That mountain was in my way."  While Axelas was no simpleton with machine works, he seemed to be his entire race's warrior bloodlines distilled in to one body.  You could say he would go toe-to-toe with an ogre and look an orc in the eye and laugh, but that would be innacurate.  If he was ever close enough to go toe-to-toe with an ogre, the ogre would be much more concerned with it's missing shins, kneecaps, and whatever else was in Axelas' reach, much less it's toes.  And while he would be laughing, the only time he would look an orc in the eye would be if he was currently on a trajectory to head-butt it between the eyes.
         He didn't carry a siege weapon because he was one, but he still had plenty of other toys, just for some variety of choice so he wouldn't get bored.  He bristled with weapons, all designed and made by him personally.  On each hip hung his straight-handled sawed off shotguns with the axeblades. His bracers were gatling guns, with three short, thick barrels spaced equidistanly that would rotate around his forearm when he fired the huge lead slugs they were armed with.  On his right shoulder was slung a thick steel shield, which was big enough to cover his entire body when he wielded it. Alot of Border Guards had started using Reality Fields against the magic users, but he figured you couldn't get much more real than steel.  Last, but not least, was the mortar cannon that was strapped to his back.  The long tube launched devastating grenades from one end, and had an equally devastating warhammer head on the other, just in case a situation called for a little more . . . finesse.
         He stood next to his tank, with his shotguns raised and ready, scanning for any signs of his prey.  He had the unenviable job of Border Guard, and he loved every minute of it.  He mainly patrolled the northern mountain areas near his home city of Deep Castle.  While the intelligent races of the magic nations, like the elves and the trolls, respected the ages old Treaty and stayed in the east, there were plenty other magical creatures to keep him occupied.  Many of the other, "wilder"  denizens of the magical nations paid no heed to lines on paper, be it the words of the Treaty, or the dividing lines on a map that essentially meant
"Do not cross."  Manticores, harpies,  goblins and the like who wandered on to his turf looking for easy pickings had to be constantly reminded that the creatures on this side of those lines had teeth of steel and lead.
         He re-holstered his shotguns and wandered into the forest, making no attempt at stealth.  He wanted to be found.  Things had been quiet lately, and he was looking for a good fight.  He hadn't gone very far when the loud crack of a falling tree behind him made him stop.  He turned around, and then looked up.  "Well, you're a big bastard, aren't ya?" he said.
         The cyclops roared at him, it's sickly yellow eye and sharp, narrow teeth only a few feet away.  It wore a tattered leather loin cloth, and had a tree trunk clutched in it's massive fist, like a club.  Dark green, mottled skin covered the gargantuan body, easily three times his size, and was bent over to get it's face closer to Axelas', to make sure he got the point of the roar.  Axelas calmly waited for the roar to finish.  "You're an ugly one, too."
         The cyclops straightened up, towering over Axelas, and roared again as it began to swing its giant club.  Axelas rolled to the side, easily dodging the club as it crashed down, firing his gatling guns at the beast.  The slugs staggered the cyclops, but its skin seemed to absorb the bullets, leaving no visible wounds.  That's the problem with these magical bastards, Axelas thought as he came out of his roll in a crouch, his shield raised.  They don't have the decency to get hurt when they should.  They like to ignore the rules of reality.  The cyclops put its full might behind another swing, the trunk humming through the air as it came down on Axelas' shield.  The blow was mighty enough to shatter the trunk, but Axelas didn't budge an inch.
         The cyclops stumbled from the ferocity of its blow, and Axelas rose smoothly, the cannon already in his hand.  He swung with the hammer end, and landed a vicious uppercut on the beast's chin, rocking it back so hard it fell to the ground.  Before the cyclops had even landed, Axelas had thrown aside the shield and cannon, and was leaping through the air with a shotgun in each hand.  He landed on its chest, knocking it back down again.  It snarled at him, and he took that opportunity to shove the barrel in his left hand in its mouth, the blade splitting apart its jaw.  He pulled the trigger right as his other hand swung down, cleaving the top of its head in half. The shot blasted gore out the other side of its head.  Sometimes you have to make sure they can't ignore certain realities.
         Axelas stepped off the beast as it finally stopped moving, sighing.  It hadn't been as fun as he'd hoped.  Shame about the head, too.  It would have made a great hood ornament for the tank.