The Christmas Cracking of Knocker Vein

The hills around Virginia City, Nevada, were as quiet as a church mouse on Sunday, save for the occasional clatter of loose rocks or the faint rustle of dry sagebrush. Beneath this desolate landscape, however, a secret war was brewing—a conflict between the mechanical precision of the Nutcrackers and the shadowy cunning of the Tommyknockers.

The fight had begun over a vein of crystalline ore deep within the earth, glowing faintly with energy neither side fully understood but desperately wanted. To the Nutcrackers, the mineral promised perpetual power to sustain their mechanical forms. To the Tommyknockers, it was lifeblood, their connection to the supernatural world.

The Nutcrackers approached the mine’s entrance led by Captain Brassjaw, whose wooden face gleamed faintly under a lacquer patina. Their boots clanked rhythmically on the rocky ground as they advanced in formation.

“Steady, soldiers,” Brassjaw ordered, his voice hollow but commanding. “The mineral is within our grasp. This mine is but another battlefield. No ghosts nor tricks will deter us.”

Behind him, Lieutenant Snapfinger, a younger Nutcracker with a fresh coat of crimson paint, hesitated. “Captain, the Tommyknockers are known for their traps. Should we not—”

“There is no room for doubt,” Brassjaw snapped. “Our strength lies in unity. Forward!”

The Nutcrackers’ mechanical march echoed through the dark mouth of the mine as they descended into the labyrinth below.

Deep in the twisting tunnels, the Tommyknockers watched. Small, wiry figures with glowing green eyes blended seamlessly into the shadows. Their leader, Knocker King Flinttooth, crouched beside a jagged stalagmite, a smirk splitting his coal-black face.

“They come, just as I said,” Flinttooth whispered, his voice as gritty as gravel. “Clanking and stomping, thinking they’ll claim what’s ours.”

Another knocker, Pebblequick, giggled nervously. “Should we start the collapsing now, King? I’ve set the north tunnel nice and loose.”

“Patience, Pebblequick,” Flinttooth said, raising a gnarled hand. “Let them come deeper. Let them see the prize. Then we’ll give ’em a proper welcome.”

As the Nutcrackers advanced, faint whispers began to echo through the tunnels, disjointed and eerie.

“Do you hear that, Captain?” Snapfinger asked, tightening his grip on his halberd.

“Tricks,” Brassjaw replied curtly. “Do not falter. The ore lies ahead.”

The Nutcrackers finally reached the heart of the mine, where the mineral vein pulsed softly with an ethereal blue light. The air hummed faintly, and the glow reflected off the Nutcrackers’ polished armor.

“Magnificent,” Brassjaw said, stepping forward. “Secure the area. This is our future.”

But as the soldiers began to position themselves, the ground rumbled. Pebbles fell from the ceiling, and the whispers grew into a cacophony of mocking laughter.

“Welcome, tin soldiers!” Flinttooth’s voice boomed from the shadows. “Did you think it’d be so easy?”

Suddenly, explosions of dust and rock erupted from all sides. The tunnels began to collapse, cutting off escape routes and separating the Nutcrackers. Tommyknockers darted in and out of the chaos, their small forms barely visible as they pulled ropes and set off traps.

Snapfinger swung his halberd, narrowly missing a knocker that had slashed at his leg joints. “They’re everywhere!” he shouted.

“Hold your ground!” Brassjaw bellowed, using his jaw’s crushing strength to snap through a falling boulder. “Regroup by the vein!”

The remaining Nutcrackers formed a circle around the glowing vein, with their disciplined ranks battered but unbroken. The Tommyknockers encircled them, grinning from the darkness.

“This ends now,” Brassjaw declared, raising his saber. “We claim this ore in the name of the Nutcracker Corps!”

Flinttooth stepped forward, dragging a long, jagged pickaxe behind him. “Oh, you’ll claim something, alright—dust and rubble! Collapse it, lads!”

With a roar, the ceiling above the Nutcrackers gave way. Massive chunks of rock crashed down, pinning some and scattering others. The Tommyknockers moved in for the kill, their sharp tools flashing in the dim light.

When the dust finally settled, the mine was silent again. Broken pieces of Nutcracker armor lay scattered amidst the rubble. Flinttooth stood triumphantly atop a large boulder, his green eyes gleaming triumphantly.

“They thought they could take what’s ours,” he muttered, kicking a shattered Nutcracker helmet into the darkness. “The mine belongs to the Tommyknockers. Always has, always will.”

Deep beneath the hills of Virginia City, the victorious knockers melted back into the shadows, their laughter echoing as they vanished, leaving no trace of the battle that had raged underground. Above ground, the UNR seismology lab reported a 1.3 magnitude earthquake shook the area.

Later that evening, the two sworn enemies from earlier that day were seen at the Old Corner Bar drinking and enjoying themselves.