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He felt kinda bad, actually. He almost wanted to help 'em out. Revive some more helpers for 'em. Or maybe even jump in there and give 'em a hand, himself. That'd be funny, if only to see the looks on their faces.

And on any other occasion, he might've indulged such whims. But not today. Time was a factor, thanks to the question of whether or not Qorvass had managed to contact anyone.

Sadly, this was a no fun zone, at the moment.

So he had the Mk. VI get on with it.

The hulking metal body split apart down the middle, creating one massive pair of jaws. And out came a whirlwind of extra tentacles. The ones that were attached to the outside of its body became visually lost in the shuffle as the room filled with squirming machine parts.

Six Vanguardian generals at once were caught and bound, as were each of their reapers. They struggled vainly against the snaking metal, and some of them even managed to break through a few of the tentacles.

But it didn't matter, of course. Where one tentacle was severed, ten more were there to replace it. And even the broken ones were quickly wriggling their way back toward reattachment.

And then, the tentacles all retracted, and the Mk. VI devoured them.

In an instant, all the noise--the whirring and scraping, the muffled cries and scream--came to an abrupt an end.

Except the grinding. Deep in the bowels of the Mk. VI's bulbous body, those people were being diced up, crunched down, and digested.

Still, even that was surprisingly quiet. Morgunov would've expected that the mangling and mashing of six whole people would be a lot louder than this. Hmm. Perhaps the sheer density of the Mk. VI's overall design had caused it to become an unexpectedly effective sound dampener.

Neat!