Cobra Clutch

Deep in the flooded conduits below the iron foundry, Damo encountered the serpent born of steam and rusted steel. It possessed no flesh-only articulated copper coils and hydraulic jaws that hissed with toxic pressure. When its vice-like grip locked around his throat, the metal squeezed until his chest plates cracked, forcing black oil and stagnant water from his lungs. The mechanism did not bite to feed; it constricted to crush every pulse of life into static compliance. With every agonizing turn of the gears, the steel coils tightened further, turning his armor into a metal casket beneath the dark sewer floor. He could not fight back, nor could he breathe, as the cold machine ground his bones into the reeking mud.