The tank was losing weight. Rapidly.
Yggdrasil moved with the grace of a conductor, the God-Shears snapping shut with a sound that wasn't metallic, but wet. It sounded like a butcher slicing through a side of beef, if the beef were made of reinforced composite armor.
The blades met with a wet, decisive closure.
The tank’s main cannon barrel fell off. It hit the driveway with a dull, heavy thud that shook the porch.
"A little top-heavy," Yggdrasil murmured, stepping back to admire his work. He tilted his head, monocle glinting in the morning sun. "Better. Much better airflow."
Inside the tank, the Goblin Commander was screaming. His voice was muffled by the remaining steel, sounding like a furious kazoo.
"Reverse! Reverse!" The commander shrieked. "The gardener is armed! I repeat, the
