A triumphant, if ragged, roar echoed from the direction of the Power Core crater. Tabitha landed heavily nearby, scales scorched black in patches, one wing membrane torn, but her emerald eyes blazing with fierce satisfaction.
Behind her limped the remnants of her union: the minotaur leaning on his desk-club, the phoenix smoldering weakly but upright, sprites buzzing with exhausted pride.
"Core's slag," Tabitha announced, smoke curling from her nostrils. "Fold's undone. Stapler's..." She gestured with her snout towards the center of the plaza.
Stapler Prime lay partially buried under its own collapsed infrastructure. One leg was crumpled into uselessness by the Weaver's fold, the other twitched spasmodically. Its chromed hull was scorched, dented, and pierced by debris. Its single red photoreceptor flickered erratically, casting dying light across the ruin. A broken, stuttering drone emitted from its speakers:
