Doom Tortoise

Evren

I awaken to the clanging of metal. My eyes flutter open, and I feel a firm softness beneath and behind me. A groan escapes my lips as yesterday’s events come flooding back. That’s right - I’m inside a metal beast. A tank. Something otherworldly, almost.

Sunlight filters through the open hatch above Jesse’s seat, the rays cutting down at a low angle. Early morning. Jesse himself is nowhere in sight, though the muffled thud of boots above tells me where he is.

I stretch, wincing as pain flares in my ankle. Right. Sprain. I grit my teeth until it dulls. Jesse’s boots clomp closer to the hatch, and in one smooth movement he drops back inside.

“Oh! You’re awake. I didn’t wake you, did I?” He grimaces before I can answer, already aware of what I’m going to say. “Sorry. But we should get moving soon.”

I nod. He gestures to the open hatch.

“Hey, could you come topside a minute? There’s something I need to ask.”

I haul myself up, bracing on the edges until I’m perched on the rim with my legs dangling inside. Jesse ducks under the barrel, carrying a spent cartridge - the one he fired yesterday. The one I made. He cradles it as though it might spill.

He crouches opposite me and holds it out.
“Sorry to ask again, but do you think you could make this stuff?”

I take the casing - and realise he’s right to be careful. It isn’t empty. Inside sloshes a transparent yellow liquid, strong-smelling and faintly sweet. I tilt it toward the sunlight, watching ripples of gold dance on the metal.

“What is it?”

“Diesel. It’s what fuels this tank, what keeps it moving. I used half my supply just yesterday. If we’re going anywhere, we need more. A lot more.”

I tip a drop onto my palm, inhaling its harsh scent.
“Well, that shouldn’t be an issue. Liquids are fairly simple to make.”

His eyes brighten instantly.
“Really? What’s the cost?”

“Hold on - let me try it first.”

I move to empty the casing over the side, but Jesse grabs my hand suddenly, stopping me. We freeze, caught in an awkward moment. He lets go just as quickly, his voice rough.

“Sorry. But that liquid is kind of my lifeline. Please - don’t dump it. I’ll do it.”

I give him a nervous smile and pass it over. He disappears down the sloped plating, a clatter of latches opening and shutting following him. When he returns, the casing is empty.

I close my eyes, summoning the memory: the way it smelled, the slick feel on my skin, the pale shimmer of light through it. White essence swirls around my hands, warmth blooming in my chest. It pools, congeals, and fades into yellow. I hand the refilled casing back.

“Is this good?”

He sniffs it, then pours a drop onto his hand. His grin spreads wide.
“Perfect. So how much did it cost?”

I shrug.
“I could probably make around two hundred liters per goblin soul.”

His grin somehow grows wider, almost boyish.
“Two hundred? Per goblin soul? You have no idea how good that is. This tank holds five hundred and sixty-eight liters - so, what, two goblins for almost a full refill?”

He actually bounces on his feet, the relief radiating from him.
“Wow. Yesterday I thought I was going to starve to death when the tank ran dry. Now… this is incredible.”

I smile softly.
“I’m glad I can be of use.”

He beams at me, eyes crinkling.
“I’d hug you, but we just met. So instead - accept my most humble, graceful thanks.”

My face warms, and I can’t help smiling wider.
“You’re welcome.”

Still grinning, he tips the cartridge over the side, emptying it without hesitation, then tosses it away. He ducks under the gun barrel and slips into his seat. The tank hums to life, screens flickering on. His head pokes back up through the hatch, the silver headband now snug across his forehead.

“Ready to go?”

I nod - then hesitate, shaking my head. His smile falters.
“No? Why?”

I motion at my clothes.
“I’ll be recognized in these. Hold on a mo.”

At once, soul essence blossoms around me, wrapping my body in white. For an instant I feel weightless as fabric dissolves, only to reform in an entirely different shape. When the glow fades, I glance down at my new attire: a slim white ruffled blouse flowing into a circle skirt above the knee, with small cuffs just below my shoulders. Dark, translucent stockings rise just beneath the hem, held by garters. Two lavender bows tie my hair, puffing it out more than usual.

I look down at my legs, suddenly self-conscious. Jesse stares, mouth slightly open.
“Stop staring. You’re making me nervous.”

He blinks, shaking himself.
“Sorry, sorry. It looks good on you.”

Heat stirs in my chest, but he’s already vanished back inside the tank. The engine growls to life, smoke puffing from a vent along the front panel. I lower myself carefully into the padded seat, testing my bad ankle as the displays around me flicker bright. A second whine comes from Jesse adjusting his seat, then the whole machine lurches forward with a roar.

And just like that - we’re off.

I raise my seat after a few minutes, letting the wind tug at my hair and brush against my cheeks. It’s a little cold, but refreshing all the same. Below, the ground blurs past on either side - endless fields stretching to the horizon, empty save for the occasional flock of small birds diving and wheeling after insects. Their twirling dance holds me for a moment, until the tank jolts and my head snaps forward.

Blinking, I glance up at the massive pipe running the length of the machine. Jesse told me it was a bigger gun - similar in function to the one he fired yesterday, only far more powerful. It takes an enormous round, though he hasn’t shown me one yet.

My ankle throbs faintly, more a reminder than real pain. Whatever Jesse wrapped it with - an elastic bandage, he called it - is doing its job well. Three weeks without walking isn’t something to look forward to, but somehow… it doesn’t feel unbearable. Inside this machine, I almost feel safe. Terrified, yes, but safe - like nothing out there could touch us, not as long as the tank still has fuel.

I half-expected Jesse to ask me to refill it, but he hasn’t. Maybe he’s waiting for it to drop to a certain level, keeping careful track of what’s added. I don’t know.

The machine rocks steadily beneath me, a constant rhythm that leaves my thoughts drifting. Where did this thing come from? What happens now? If Jesse wants to be accepted anywhere, his best chance is joining a well-known guild.

I raise my voice over the roar of the engine.
“Jesse, what’s the plan?”

He shouts back.
“The plan?”

“Yeah. Where are we going, exactly?”

He laughs, the sound carrying easily over the noise.
“You tell me! I’m thoroughly lost.”

I groan, exasperated.
“No, I mean - where do you want to end up?”

“Oh. Well, first I want to find that guild you were talking about.”

“And after that?”

He pauses just long enough to make me curious, then grins.
“I’d quite like to see a dragon.”

My heart nearly stops.
“A what now?”

“A dragon! They sound incredible.”

“Do you even know what a dragon is?”

“Nope. Never seen one. That’s the idea!”

I stare at him, stunned. He’s clearly set on this madness. Fine. I’ll try to talk sense into him later. For now, I just let the conversation drop and turn my eyes back to the rushing road, the clamor of the tracks filling my ears.

It takes only an hour to reach the next village. When it finally comes into view across the plains, a river curling lazily beside it, I start doing the math. From the edge of the forest to here - barely four hours. Four. It took me three days of walking to cover that same ground. The thought rattles around my head, impossible to dismiss. At this rate, if we didn’t stop - if we drove through the night and slept inside this machine - we could cross the country in four, maybe five days. A journey that would normally take weeks by cart, months even, collapsed into mere days.

I shake my head, numbers slipping away as my gaze fixes on the village itself. The memories come back. Last time I was here, I slept in a stable - there, I think, the one by the road. It had been too dark to be sure. I’d left at dawn, the same morning I realised I was being tailed. Hired blades. Adventurers in the kingdom’s pay. Even now, the thought makes me shiver.

The village isn’t small. From this vantage I can count close to two hundred rooftops, maybe more hidden behind. People are everywhere - working fields, cooking in the open, hammering out armor under the sun, simply talking. There’s even a small guild hall, if I recall right. But none of them will be expecting something like this to roll up their road.

The thought gnaws at me: what happens when we reach a real city? How do you explain a tank? There are only two labels the world would understand - holy weapon, or a summoned monster. The first would draw the church down on us like wolves. The second… sooner or later, someone would demand proof. And if neither stuck? The kingdom would brand it heretical, demonic, and come to destroy it. Destroy us.

The first buildings appear - granaries, low huts for shepherds. I lower my seat and pull the hatch shut over me. Better unseen. The people don’t come until we reach the outskirts. Then I see it - Jesse was right about the fear. Bodies frozen mid-step. Parents clutching children. Mouths half open, eyes wide as the growl of the engine swallows every other sound. Children scatter, bare feet drumming the dirt, vanishing into doorways. The village falls silent around us.

We crawl forward. And then, just before the far edge, two men burst into the road, waving their arms.

“Hey! Hey!”

Jesse throws the brakes. The tank groans to a halt. On the screens I see the men panting hard, faces sheened with sweat. Fear in their eyes, yes - but underneath it something stronger. Desperation. They look up at Jesse, voices breaking.

“Do… do-doom tortoise! There’s a doom tortoise in the fields!”

My chest seizes. Doom tortoise. Sixty tons of meat and malice, wrapped in armor no blade can pierce. Whole forests vanish in their wake. Even the most blessed of holy weapons struggle - sometimes it takes several to bring one down. And until that happens, anything in its path is simply devoured. If one has wandered this way, the village is finished.

That’s the fear in their eyes. But the determination - that’s something else. They think Jesse and the machine, no matter how terrifying, are their last chance. Maybe it was a spur of the moment gamble.

Jesse doesn’t hesitate.

“Doom tortoise? I’m assuming you need it killed?”

Not a flicker of doubt in his voice. The men stare, as startled as I am, then nod furiously.

“Yes! Yes, if you can - we’ll reward you well!”

Jesse leans inside, glances at me.
“You don’t have any money, do you?”

I shake my head. Not a coin to my name.

He nods once, turns back. “Alright. Show me where it is.”

The men light up, hope shining through the sweat. They sprint off, and the tank lurches forward as Jesse throttles up to follow. He’s confident. Too confident. No sane man accepts a doom tortoise hunt on a whim. And not for the first time, I wonder just what world Jesse truly came from.

As we follow the running pair, I suddenly realise we’re being followed. A crowd of maybe twenty villagers - men and women both - trail after us. They want to see what we do. I’m surprised. Just minutes ago, they were cowering in fear from this thing. Now they march behind it?

I don’t know what’s scarier - the thought that they’ve lost so much hope they’d willingly follow an unknown monster, or that they just want to watch us die in its jaws.

I glance down at my hands. They’re steady. Too steady. I feel like they should be shaking. I should be terrified. I should be clinging to Jesse’s sleeve, begging him to turn back. But instead I sit still, watching the landscape roll by, believing - somehow - that we’ll get through this. My only comfort is the tank’s speed. If it lunges, maybe we can outrun it. Maybe.

My eyes drift upward, to the cannon mounted above. Could that tiny barrel even penetrate a doom tortoise’s armour? Surely not - it’s a toy compared to the thing’s bulk. I argue with myself until the villagers ahead begin slowing, and Jesse halts. They rush back alongside us, pointing over the ridge.

“It’s right over there. We’ll be right behind you.”

Somehow, I don’t doubt them. This is their last stand. If we can’t kill the tortoise, they’ll die here. Jesse just nods.

“Roger that.”

He lowers his seat and pulls the hatch shut, sealing out the wind and most of the noise. His hands move fast across the controls, the displays blooming with strange symbols: a crosshair, speed, angle, direction - and a blur of abbreviations I don’t understand. APFSDS. LDR. RDY. More letters than I can track.

Something clacks behind me. I glance back, but nothing seems different. Then my seat shifts with a whine, swiveling left, then right, as the gun above searches for its mark. Jesse’s voice cuts in.

“Okay. I should warn you - if I have to fire, it’ll be very, very loud.”

I nod quickly. “Okay.”

He shakes his head. “No, really loud. Loudest thing you’ll ever hear. Even with the hatches closed. Your ears will ring, maybe go out for a bit. But you’ll be fine.”

My throat’s dry. “O-okay.”

The villagers fan out on either side as we crest the ridge. And then I see it.

Even at two, maybe three hundred meters, it’s massive - a beast out of nightmares. Four clawed feet. Dark green hide. Its body covered entirely in armour thicker than any shell. It moves slowly, head swaying, sniffing at the air. Just looking at it presses down on me, heavy as a storm.

The gun above shifts with a soft whine. My seat pivots to follow, the crosshair on the screen locking to its neck. The image zooms in. Jesse’s voice is quick.

“Evren - vitals?”

I answer without hesitation. “Small brain, top of the head. Hard to hit. Heart and lungs are central, but buried under layers of flesh. Bigger target, though.”

The reticle shifts deeper into its torso. The tortoise lifts its head - and then freezes. Its eyes fix on us.

Jesse’s voice drops. “On a scale of one to ten, how dangerous?”

My pulse hammers. “Out of everything that exists? Solid eight.”

The tortoise crouches, ready to charge. Jesse whispers: “Cover your ears.”

I clamp my hands to my head, but my eyes stay locked on it.

The world explodes.

The shot tears through the tank like a physical blow. A sound so huge it’s beyond description - metal screaming, air splitting, thought itself rupturing. It vibrates through my chest, rattles my bones, claws at my skull. My flimsy hands are nothing against it. Smoke engulfs the cameras, blinding us.

But for an instant I glimpse it - a flash of red, dead-center on the crosshair. Then gone.

A clang overhead. The rear of the gun splits, ejecting a golden casing the size of my arm, still smoking. It spins through the air and clatters down the hill like an empty bucket. More clacking from behind my seat, mechanical groans, the whine of systems shifting. The symbols update rapidly. Countdown ticking - 2.1, 1.6, 0.

The smoke clears.

And there it is. The doom tortoise is slumped forward, front legs collapsed, blood pooling from a ragged tear in its neck. Dead. Dead in a single shot.

My chest heaves as the creature’s soul is absorbed into my own. Around us, the villagers are scattered in the grass, hands clamped to their heads, grimacing. No one warned them.

Only now do I notice the ringing in my own ears, shrill and endless. I lower my hands slowly. Jesse glances at me, a faint smile tugging his lips.

He tilts his head. “Target destroyed, I guess.”