CHAPTER 77: THE OVERPROTECTIVE TANKER — PART 2.

Savier remained frozen in the middle of the chamber, kneeling like a tragic statue. In his hand, he clutched the loose stitch—Precious Paula’s last thread, as if it were a holy relic. His eyes stared into the void. Distant. Haunting. Possibly planning a country song.

Johnquis glanced at him, then back at his HUD.

No new alerts.

No more movement.

Just wreckage and ruin.

He exhaled and stepped toward the edge of the chamber, the faint glow of fractured crystal lighting the cracks around them. The Tanker stood silently beside him, posture straight, hands clenched at his sides like a soldier waiting for orders.

"Alright," Johnquis muttered. "No more surprises. No more cages. I just want to find this damn Queen’s nest and finish the job."

He looked up at the towering mass of stone and muscle beside him.

"...You got any idea where she’s nesting, big guy?"

The Tanker didn’t answer. He just tilted his head.

Then slowly... he crouched.

With a deep rumble, the Tanker slammed one fist into the ground. Then the other.

His massive arms spread wide.

Cracks in the floor lit beneath him as he pressed his palms flat to the stone, fingers splayed.

The whole chamber hummed.

A shockwave of subtle energy rippled outward from his body—silent, invisible to the eye, but powerful. The crystals flickered. The floor vibrated softly, like something ancient was listening.

He stilled. Completely.

Then—

VMMMMMM.

His inner core lit up faintly. Soft violet through the cracks in his armored shell.

He was reading the ground. Feeling it.

Johnquis blinked, amazed. "What the hell..."

The Tanker’s head slowly raised.

Then, without a word, he pointed—an exact direction. Straight east. Beyond the broken edge of the chamber. Into the dark where stone sloped downward into a vast subterranean path.

Johnquis stared. "You sensed the nest?"

The Tanker gave a low grunt.

Johnquis grinned wide. "Holy shit. You’re amazing."

He turned toward the big guy. "Tanker, you beautiful slab of sentient concrete. You just saved us hours."

The Tanker gave another short grunt.

He turned to share the moment with Savier, who was still kneeling dramatically in the center of the chamber.

Now he was whispering to the scrap of stitching in his palm.

"...You were the warmest thread in the cold jacket of my soul..."

Johnquis squinted. "Is he... serenading the patch?"

The Tanker tilted his head again.

"...I think he is," Johnquis confirmed.

Savier didn’t move. Just slowly raised one hand to the sky. "I’ll find justice for you, Paula. A jacket isn’t a jacket without its heart."

Johnquis marched over, sighed deeply, and grabbed the back of Savier’s bomber jacket by the fur collar.

"Come on, Romeo. We found the nest."

"WAIT—NO—I NEED AT LEAST SIX MORE MINUTES OF MOURNING—!"

Johnquis dragged him anyway, Savier’s boots scraping uselessly across the stone as he flailed with one arm, holding the patch to his chest like a fallen comrade.

The Tanker walked beside them silently, the stone under his feet pulsing with faint energy every few steps. Guiding them like a living compass.

"Let me go, damn it!" Savier cried. "I have rights! I AM THE PATCH WIDOWER!"

As the three of them headed deeper into the tunnels—one happy boy with his new rare pet. One overprotective beast. And one grieving the loss of a shoulder patch.

Johnquis smiled, trailing behind his Tanker. Because finally, finally...this quest run was starting to make sense.

Sort of. Kind of. Mostly.

He glanced at the Tanker again, proud. "Hell yeah. Never thought I’d be walking beside one—let alone catch it myself."

The tunnel wound deeper, slick with condensation and stinking of old metal and burnt spores. The Tanker took the lead, each step a seismic thud, echoing through the stone. The ground trembled. Crystals, minerals, and jagged rock bloomed along the walls in its wake like the tunnel itself was responding to its presence.

Johnquis walked a few steps behind, eyeing the glowing stones pulsing in rhythm with the Tanker.

"This place is rotting," he muttered, swiping mold off his coat. "We’re close. I can feel it."

Savier followed, dramatically twirling his hybrid blade in slow spins, eyes constantly darting between the walls and the Tanker’s massive back. Then, finally, he huffed.

"I’ve made my decision."

Johnquis didn’t look back. "You’re not allowed to marry your jacket again."

"No, jackass," Savier said, pointing his blade like a knight issuing a challenge. "I’m going to duel him."

Johnquis turned his head. "What?"

"Him." Savier jabbed a thumb at the Tanker. "That big meat wall. He fisted Paula. He must pay."

Johnquis blinked. "You’re serious?"

"As heartache," Savier growled.

Johnquis dragged a hand down his face. "So first you’re trying to bang Dancer, now you want to fight my other slave?"

Savier didn’t flinch. "Justice demands it."

Johnquis gave him a long look. "You mean this guy? The one who nearly knocked you out with air?"

"I was emotionally compromised!" Savier snapped.

"He didn’t even touch you!"

"Exactly! That’s how powerful he is! Paula exploded just being near him!"

The Tanker didn’t stop walking. But his head turned slightly.

He looked at Savier.

One long, heavy glance. Blank, armored, almost mechanical... yet somehow filled with that same "Do you really want this smoke?" energy of a bouncer eyeing a drunk frat boy.

Savier froze.

The Tanker looked forward again.

Johnquis snorted. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

Savier narrowed his eyes. "I still want the duel."

"You’ll die."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"You definitely will."

"I have spirit."

"You have drama."

Then the Tanker fully turned around this time. No hesitation. Just a slow, heavy swivel.

Two glowing eyes locked with Savier’s.

Silence.

The kind of silence where even the fungi seemed to stop growing.

Johnquis stood between them, arms outstretched like a guy stopping two bulls from charging.

"Whoa! WHOA. Hey! No! No arena fights in the middle of a dungeon!"

Savier didn’t look away. "He’s looking at me like he wants it too."

The Tanker didn’t move but his fists clenched. Not in anger. In anticipation.

Johnquis sighed. "Okay. Fine. You want this dumb fight? After the quest. When he’s fully healed."

The Tanker grunted once. A sound of approval.

Savier gave a sharp nod. "Agreed. After the quest."

They broke eye contact.

The tension melted, barely.

Johnquis exhaled. "God, you two are idiots."