the way up to its hollow eye-sockets.
The skull clambered out of the box, carried on eight spindly metal legs that extended from within its neck. It scurried like a spider across the floor, before rolling into position next to the chest.
The metal legs gripped the top of the chestplate and pulled the skull into position. Wires squirmed from the neck and from the body, joining together, forming connections.
With a clunk, the skull snapped into place. Deep in its eye-sockets, a dull red light began to glow. Metal squeaked, and the robot sat upright. The horned head swivelled 180 degrees until it was looking directly at Drake.
Behold the Deathblade Guardian, said the voice in Drake’s head. Defeat it and claim the power of the Deathblade, or else die in the attempt.
The Deathblade Guardian raised itself up on its hydraulic legs and looked down at Drake. Drake looked up at the Deathblade Guardian.
“Um, hi,” he said.
And then he ran away.
THE VOICE IN Drake’s head screamed angrily at him, ordering him to turn back. Drake ignored it and powered on along the passageway, racing towards the exit. Behind him, he heard the hollow thunk, thunk, thunk of heavy footsteps hitting the plastic floor. He glanced back over his shoulder, but the light from the halo only reached a few metres, and all he could see of the Deathblade Guardian were its two red eyes burning in the dark.
A robotic demon. War hadn’t mentioned any snap-together robotic demons guarding the scythe. Something else that had ‘slipped his memory’, no doubt.
Something whistled past Drake’s ear. He chanced another look back. The light from the entrance up ahead lifted away the veil of shadow. The polished chrome of the guardian came stomping from the darkness, one clenched fist raised.
There was a puff of smoke, a flash of flame, and a pyramid-shaped knuckle rocketed towards Drake’s head. Drake ducked and stumbled, and the missile streaked harmlessly past. It hit the side of a plastic tub at a shallow angle, and ricocheted into the softening gloom up ahead.
The Deathblade Guardian marched on, the plastic floor buckling beneath its immense weight as it closed the gap between it and Drake. Its arm remained raised, the fist trained on the boy’s back. Another flash. Another puff of smoke. Drake barely had time to twist sideways. He felt the turbulence the spike caused as it streaked by him.
“Look, keep the scythe,” Drake cried. “I don’t want it.”
The clanking and thudding of the robot seemed to be right behind him. He daren’t look back now. Had to keep moving, keep running, get to the exit and get away.
The lights of the Junk Room weren’t particularly bright, but they dazzled him as he stumbled from inside the cave. He took a brief moment to get his bearings, and then a somewhat more leisurely moment to realise he was trapped.
One cliff face led upwards, the other led down to the ground far below. He had climbed quickly, but there was no way he would be fast enough to make it up or down before the guardian could take aim.
A whirring of hydraulics behind him made Drake spin round. The demonic figure of the robot clanked out from the confines of the cave. Its polished metal frame glinted in the glow from the overhead lights. Its demented grin seemed to twist further up its unmoving face, as the twin red circles in its eye-sockets glowed even brighter.
Drake backed towards the edge of the cliff. A weapon, he needed a weapon. If only he had some sort of—
His eyes went to the halo in his hand. It looked like the flying disc he’d been given for his birthday a couple of years ago. It had been a fun gift. Perhaps not as much fun as the games console he’d asked for, but he’d become pretty good with it in the weeks after his birthday.
The guardian’s clenched fist briefly tightened. The final projectile on its left hand streaked across the gap between the boy and the robot. Drake dropped to one knee, curled the halo in against his chest, then flicked out sharply with his wrist.
The hoop of holy light spun as it sliced through the air towards the Deathblade Guardian. Drake followed its flight, praying to whichever deity was listening that his aim was good.
It was. The spinning ring found its target. “Yes, yes, yes!” Drake cheered as the halo struck the guardian across its exposed metal throat.
“No, no, no,” he groaned, when the glowing hoop