"So… what's our way forward?"
The question lingered in the night air.
Raul broke the silence first, leaning back with his hands behind his head. "What way forward is there?" he said lightly. "We just keep moving forward. Same as always."
Arin stared up at the darkening sky for a long moment, then nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "You're right. We keep moving forward."
The words had barely left his mouth when—
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Bells erupted across the village.
Not one.
Not two.
Every alarm bell rang at once, their sharp, frantic peals tearing through the calm evening like blades.
Arin was on his feet instantly. "What's wrong?"
Mina froze. Her eyes widened as recognition hit.
"…That's the monster alarm."
She didn't need to say anything else.
They all moved at once.
Weapons were grabbed. Armor strapped on. Victor hefted his warhammer, Raul rolled his shoulders, daggers already in hand. Arin tightened his grip on his sword. Mina summoned her focus, breath steady despite the surge of adrenaline.
The sun had already sunk beyond the horizon. Night ruled the desert now.
By the time they reached the main village road, chaos had taken hold.
Warriors and hunters were evacuating civilians, shouting directions, pushing people toward reinforced shelters. Torches flickered wildly, casting long, distorted shadows across the ground.
They ran straight for the walls.
And then they saw them.
Arin stopped dead.
"…Five hundred," he breathed.
A black tide moved across the sands.
Scorpions.
Hundreds of them.
Most were regular desert scorpions, each the size of a large dog, chitin glinting under torchlight, pincers clacking as they advanced. But mixed among them were darker shapes, larger, heavier.
Elite black scorpions, their bodies massive and armored, nearly as large as Tank and Rook.
And worse,
Ghost scorpions.
Sleek, pale, half-translucent forms skittered through the swarm, smaller than the black scorpions but terrifyingly fast. Assassins bred for killing.
At the center of it all, two monsters stood out even from the rest.
Captain-rank.
One black scorpion, towering and thickly plated.
One ghost scorpion, its outline blurred even while standing still.
The village only had Rasir as its Captain Rank.
And about fifty hunters and warriors.
The enemy outnumbered them ten to one.
It was a losing battle. Any experienced fighter could see that.
They spotted Rasir near the front, issuing orders with calm authority. Mina didn't hesitate; she ran straight to him.
"Father!"
Rasir turned sharply, relief flashing across his face before hardening into anger. "Mina," he said, voice low but urgent. "Run. This isn't your fight. And you boys, leave. It's for your own good."
Mina opened her mouth to argue, but Arin stepped forward first.
"No, sir," he said firmly. "We're not running. We'll fight with you."
Rasir looked at him, then at Mina's burning eyes, then at Victor and Raul standing ready behind them.
He closed his eyes and exhaled.
"…Very well," he said. "Extra hands will help. They'll clash in two minutes. Get into position."
They moved immediately, but not to Rasir's formation.
If they fought side by side without coordination, it would only create chaos and friendly fire.
They took positions slightly apart.
Mina raised her hand.
"Tank, Rook."
The ground trembled as the two undead stonebacks emerged, massive forms planting themselves at the front. Victor took position between them, warhammer resting on his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
Mina stood behind the undead, Arin beside her.
Raul took the rear, eyes already scanning for movement.
Then,
The scorpions hit.
The clash was thunderous.
Rasir's troops held formation, shields locked, spears stabbing in practiced rhythm. Desert scorpions slammed into the line and died in droves.
Tank and Rook were devastation incarnate.
Their tails crushed, their jaws snapped, their bodies torn apart and flung aside. Victor waded forward like a siege engine, every swing of his warhammer pulverizing chitin and bone alike.
Raul vanished.
Flowstep blurred him into motion, daggers flashing as he moved through the swarm, heads rolling before bodies even realized they were dead.
Mina acted without hesitation.
Every scorpion that fell in usable condition was raised immediately. One after another, undead desert scorpions clawed their way back into the fight, forming a growing wall of bodies in front of her.
Arin moved constantly.
He didn't waste strikes. Every swing was precise, decapitations, joint cuts, leaving clean kills that Mina's undead could finish or replace.
Two minutes passed in brutal combat.
By the time the dust settled slightly, Mina had raised thirty desert scorpions.
Her breathing was steady.
Her mana reserve is still above ninety percent.
Then the air shifted.
Ten black scorpions broke from the swarm.
And two ghost scorpions slipped through the chaos like knives.
Black scorpions were pure power; huge, heavy, armored. Strength was their answer to everything.
Ghost scorpions were something else entirely.
Smaller, faster, and smarter killers.
One ghost scorpion lunged straight for Mina.
She didn't panic.
Midnight Dew snapped up, the shield catching the strike with a shriek of metal and chitin. Sparks flew. The force pushed her back half a step, but she held.
Midnight Flash thrust forward in the same motion, spearhead skimming past the scorpion's guard, forcing it to twist away.
The ghost scorpion vanished—
—and reappeared at her flank.
Mina pivoted, shield turning with her like it was part of her arm. Another block. Another thrust. The scorpion danced away, tail lashing, probing for weakness.
Steel rang and sand sprayed.
The fight was deadly and unforgiving.
Then,
A blur crossed the battlefield.
"Oi."
The second ghost scorpion lunged, not at Mina, but at Arin.
Raul intercepted.
He hit it mid-air, daggers carving sparks as he rode the momentum, both of them crashing into the sand. The ghost scorpion twisted instantly, tail stabbing, but Raul was already gone, Flowstep dragging him out of reach by a breath.
He reappeared low, blades slicing.
The scorpion shrieked and spun, claws snapping, tail whipping, forcing Raul back.
Two killers circled each other, movements too fast for the eye to follow.
Elsewhere,
Victor roared.
Ten black scorpions crashed into their line.
Tank and Rook met them head-on, undead bodies slamming into living armor. Chitin cracked under sheer mass, but black scorpions didn't go down easily. Their pincers crushed undead limbs. Tails struck like hammers.
Victor stepped forward.
Guardian's Stance anchored him.
A black scorpion struck, its pincer bounced off Midnight Lake with a metallic scream. Victor countered, warhammer smashing into its head, cracking armor but not killing it.
Arin moved beside him, cutting tendons, calling openings.
Mina's thirty undead swarmed, claws tearing, bodies piling, but black scorpions fought through it, strength and fury carving paths through the undead ranks.
The ground became a slaughterhouse.
Blood, sand, and broken bodies everywhere.
And the black scorpions kept coming.
The battle had only just begun.