- Wakey, wakey Jason-boy. You wouldn’t want to miss what happens next.
He didn’t want to. It’s been so long since he experienced sleep. After all, his body never really tired the same way other living creatures did. It was a perpetually powered biological machine. Any wear and tear got rejuvenated almost instantly, and that also included his brain.
So how did he actually fall asleep?
- Yep, that’s a pretty scene, if I may say so myself. Perfect to get that extra spring in your step. - the voice continued, mocking as always.
Jason felt a twitch in his hand as reality slowly crystallized from a hazy mix of sounds and flashes. There was only one thing that could force his body to shut down like that. His co-pilot in this fleshy cage. That spiteful prick.
“Fleece, you bastard.” - he thought, finally fighting off the drowsiness as he picked himself up, looking at the chaotic scenery before him as his vision cleared little by little.
- Hey. You can’t do all the work for those ungrateful goons, you know? If a lion endlessly protects its cubs, how will they learn to tear at a zebra with their own teeth?
“Thinking yourself a poet now?” - his muscles finally started working, his blood resumed its flow. But he wasn’t quite all there yet. - “First at the school and now–
Jason should have realized sooner that Fleece was acting suspiciously docile for way too long. Even during his ride with Dirk, it was way too composed, only sometimes spilling his bile in a hushed tone, like a vicious mockery from another room. It was annoying, like a dripping tap in the middle of the night, but too calm, too composed compared to the never ending storm of vile madness that it filled their head with.
It was a force of destruction, always chipping away at his sanity, day by day, hour by hour. It goaded him every waking hour, which was every single one of them, into committing the most heinous acts of violence imaginable. Provoked him, probing for any weakness that would make Jason go on a killing spree to satiate its own inexplicable lust for blood. It hated life itself and wanted it extinguished everywhere they went.
The reason escaped Jason, but one thing was for certain. That this hate also extended to him. Why else would Fleece be so hellbent on making his life miserable? Why would it taint their mind with this wretched, primal pleasure whenever they killed? Whenever they feasted?
There could only be one explanation.
It was a parasite, and he was the hos to be spent, destroyed, both in body and mind.
It craved violence in a way that words cannot describe, but it could be satiated, for a time. Whether it was Jason dishing out punishment, or receiving it, it didn’t matter. There just had to be suffering, and enough of it to satisfy Fleece’s whims, as inconsistent as they were.
If Jason were to count the few measly pints of blood he spat out during the spar with Morozov and compare it to the battle with Barbara’s mech, where his insides got turned to pulp, those two events were nowhere near comparable, yet Fleece went silent each time after but a few spiteful words of mockery.
As if being a humongous regenerating mutant wasn’t hard enough when trying to blend into human society, he also had to constantly worry about this nagging voice messing with his mind every single day of his life. Everyone had a breaking point, and Jason sometimes wondered when his would come.
“What the hell am I thinking about?” - he couldn’t help but wonder. His head felt like it went through a blender. He was trying to get up from this induced sleep, so why did his mind wander into this pointless reminiscence? - “He must have messed with me more than I initially thought”.
- Raising from the dead while your engine is cold will always take some time. - Fleece responded, not even to his thoughts, but vague feelings of confusion. - But don’t worry, what you’re about to see is bound to warm you up some. Yes… It’s like fine alcohol. So intoxicating.
Jason felt a pit form in his stomach. That could only mean one thing, that something went terribly wrong during the defense. All Jason could do was cuss in his own mind as seconds stretched into weeks.
“Stop impeding the process, you motherfucker”.
- Shouldn’t have let your head go empty while butchering those dogs. You fell into a routine and I caught you lacking, the rest is history.
“I’m not falling for this victim-blaming of yours”.
- Victim? Victim?! You truly make a fucking mockery of what you have. You’ve been granted the body of a wolf, yet you try to mingle with sheep–
Jason nipped Fleece’s pointless tirade in a bud, making a conscious effort to ignore it. The tugging feeling of worry in his heart serving as an extra effective motivator to get back to action quickly, without any more needless distractions.
He didn’t worry about Dirk, though. No. After all, he probably had the highest chance of survival. But there were others. The members of their group. Jason hesitated to call them friends, but he’d grown fond of them in the little amount of time he had the chance to listen in on their conversations over the radio. He’d hate to see them gone, he didn’t need to think about that twice. He wanted to protect them, even the prickly ones.
But to do that, he needed to be able to move. If only his body was in a working condition, then he could easily move and protect their exposed flanks. He’d make a distraction, become the bait to get them easy shots, if need be. No matter how much machinery, armor and training they tried to clad themselves in, their lives were frail, after all. Dirk himself reminded him of that not long ago, and Jason would not soon forget those words.
That was his duty, but also his desire. He couldn’t bear the pain of having one of them die when he could have done something to help them.
Suddenly, it felt as if a thousand ants ran over Jason’s nervous system, prickling him fully awake, his body working with and against him all at once. It made him clench his teeth until they threatened to crack, his vision jolting into a perfect resolution. This was it, back in the saddle.
- It’s rude to ignore me like that. I hope you enjoy smelling the ashes, Jason-boy.
At that moment, every single fiber of his muscle mass contracted, limbs moving on their own, bouncing him off the snow into an upright position, like a vampire rising from its coffin. Fighting against the overbearing onslaught of stimuli, the regenerator forced his brain into a deadly tempo, quickly searching for the most important spot within the outpost.
The image he saw made his blood run cold.
Across the snowy landscape, arcs of green lightning danced from corpse to corpse, making the dead hounds twitch and jump. An aftereffect of a recent energy discharge. They flickered and flashed erratically, yet in the chaos Jason found a pattern, and it led back to one thing. Amidst the carcasses, a giant hunk of steel lied in the snow, toppled over, with a plume of smoke rising from one of its limbs, tongues of living flame scorching its surface in spots.
- Told you. Unforgettable view, right-o? Maybe there won’t be a need for a rematch? - Fleece cackled as Jason’s eyes grew wide with disbelief.
Without delay, he ran towards the toppled Pollux on all fours like a beast, his gaze stuck on the machine as more monsters converged on its location, ready to drown it in a flesh pile. Some tried to intercept him, but he had no time to waste for them. He ignored them as they sank their teeth into his flesh and grabbed onto his back with their claws, uselessly dangling from the unstoppable locomotive of pure muscle that was his body.
As the monsters piled on, they gnawed with unnatural tenacity, struck with clear confusion at the regenerator’s prodigious resilience. Each second, the number of wounds increased exponentially, as if the hounds were trying to overwhelm Jason with chip damage. Foolishly so.
He felt nothing, even as he crushed his own shoulder capsules to fling both arms like whips around him, hitting all the hanging monsters and crushing their skulls into fine mist against his steel-hard back. As his destination drew closer, he sprung into an upright position to free both hands.
Barbara was probably still within the machine, unable to get out, and Jason was the only one who could help her. The others were too busy staying alive to give her a hand, their focus solely on their next target.
As he closed in at a break-neck speed, he saw some of that focus break, replaced by fear and astonishment at his sudden arrival, but the battle raged on. There was no time for offhand comments, as bullets shredded the air.
Jason was ready to tear the mech’s cockpit open if it meant saving the woman inside, but just as he was about to pounce, something stirred within the machine.
- What the fuck was that?! - Barbara’s voice crackled on the radio as her machine stumbled to its feet. - Since when do dogs fire laser beams?
Her tone was loud and speech clear, but that could be attributed to adrenaline, as it also betrayed a labored note. She was panting heavily. Between the machine’s naturally elevated temperature and the fresh coat of flames on its chassis, the cockpit must have felt like the inside of the oven.
- Energy discharges, not laser beams. - a familiar voice corrected her, each word punctuated by a shot. - But Argonaut’s back online. That thing won’t get another shot in.
- Really? - engaging in a hellish melee against the attackers, Barbara’s machine swung its smoking limb, swatting a pack of pouncing mutants away, but leaving itself open for a quick follow-up attack. One quickly shut down by Jason. - Oh shit, look who woke up. Had a good nap? - she called out as her coffin finally faced Jason
Now having a good look up-close, Jason was relieved to see that the damage to Pollux was contained mostly to its left shoulder. The beam melted most of the armor there to slag, leaving a nasty-looking gash, from which sparks flew freely, but that seemed to be the worst of it. The other damage, dents and scratches, were mostly superficial
- Damage report? - Dirk yelled towards Garuda, stuck in a mortal dance with another hound, before its brains got splattered with an accurate shot from Black.
- Left arm upper servo is dislocated. The stabilizers within are shot to hell. - she spoke as she fought, impaling another group of three with her undamaged arm. - I can still swing it, but no fire support until I replace it, recoil will fuck it up even further.
- Do you need to retreat?
- Screw that! I’ll manage! But enough about me. Who the hell shot that beam? We can’t be fighting just animals, right
Dirk’s answer got stuck in his throat as his magazine ran dry in the midst of a fight. Sensing an opening, the three hounds closest to him dashed in, ready to perform a takedown on the old vet, but he didn’t even need to think as his hand went for his backup. He brandished the hatched, ready to swing, but before he could even tense his muscles, a massive blur crossed his vision, and the hounds were gone.
There was the backup Dirk could count on. Jason with his perfect reaction. Like a wrecking ball, he crashed into the beasts, tumbling with them to the side, engaging them in what could only be described as a chaotic tussle.
The creatures bit and clawed, tossing and turning, trying to break free of his iron grasp, while he simply pressed on them with his own body, leveraging his strength and weight in a gory display of unbridled brutality. The deadly embrace crushed their heads like grapes, collapsed rib cages and forced the innards out in a fountain of red.
The beasts were formidable opponents, that much Dirk had to admit, but against Jason they stood no chance. The old soldier couldn’t help but feel relieved, having Jason by his side again. But not everyone shared his enthusiasm about being this close to a regenerator
As the enemies got closer, they forced the mercs’ ranks to tighten, and with each meter closer to Argonaut, some of them visibly started faltering
Match was inching away from them, oblivious to the danger it could possibly put him in. His discomfort was apparent, each nervous glance at Jason betraying the fear he so desperately wanted to push back. But he couldn’t. The ferocity with which Argonaut fought. How did it differ from that of those beasts?
- Match, return to formation, you’re creating holes in our kill zone! - Dirk turned to him, now able to catch a breath thanks to Jason.
- Then tell your dog to play fetch as far away from here as possible! - Match mouthed back, burning a monster that zipped past him. - I ain’t standing anywhere close to it!
- Dear Lord, were you all btich-made or something? - Pollux growled, mashing another mutant to paste under-foot as its damaged limb swayed somewhat limply, contrasting the other undamaged arm. - He got it under control.
- Are you blind, or just daft? Under what control? He couldn’t rouse it for shit when it casually napped near the fire pit. - the usually aloof Match made a good point. - The moment that thing gets another inkling of free will, I’m not gonna be anywhere near it.
- Match, I’m not asking, return to formation now! - Dirk yelled.
In those moments, while they all argued, something caught Jason’s attention. But not where they fought. No. Behind the raging snowstorm and the thick plumes of smoke, something flashed in the corner of his eye. He had a bad feeling about this.
Acting on instinct, he instantly broke into a sprint towards the terrified Match, much to everyone’s horror. Everything slowed down, as no words could reach Jason, his blood pumping in his ears as his instincts screamed at him to act now. He only briefly glanced at the nozzle of Match’s flamethrower as the man pointed it towards him, but the young regenerator did not falter. His focus laid elsewhere.
With a deafening, high-pitched sound, something flew towards the wavering pyrotechnician from up above, diving at breakneck speeds, but before it could reach him, a wall of muscle stood defiant against its sharp beak. The thing hit Jason like a truck. The force it carried sent him tumbling backwards, inches away from Match.
- What the fuck?! - he startled, squeezing the handle of his flamethrower in a death-grip.
- Eyes on the road! - yelled Garuda, barely managing to punch away another mutant ready to take the young man’s life.
Dirk felt a sudden pull in his gut. A desire to run to Jason, to check on him or at the very least call out to him, but he couldn’t break character. Not now. Biting his lip, he focused on getting some heat off Garuda, who now had to not only protect herself but also the confused Match.
In the meantime, Jason had his work cut out for him, wrestling with whatever struck him, surprised that it even lived through the monstrous impact. It looked like a bird, but most of its pitch-black feathers were covered by burned skin
Though it looked roughly avian, as far as the young lad could tell, no bird on planet Earth that he knew of had rows of hooks on its beak and was the size of a large dog.
With one hand, he tried to pry the beast away while repeatedly punching its gut with the other, but the harder they fought, the deeper the thing’s beak dug into his flesh. Inching its way past muscle and bone, Jason could feel the thing start to feast on his regenerating lungs.
- It’s been a while since something got through our regeneration. What a hungry twat. - Fleece chimed in, its tone of unapologetic amusement.
A fountain of blood erupted from his throat, splashing around his helmet as his lungs filled with the crimson liquid. He gritted his teeth, feeling his heart pump harder, drowning him in his own gore even faster. He rarely, if ever, feared death, but the stress of being killed so brutally and continuously had to leave a mark even on him, and his body reacted accordingly. Being eaten and waterboarded at the same time was a dreadful experience.
If only he wasn’t surrounded by other mercenaries, he could easily bulk up his muscles three, four times over and obliterate the attacker, but right now he was a “normal” regenerator. Showing his hand to their group would only cause problems for Dirk, so he powered through the pain, racking his brain for a solution.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
He roared on the top of his lungs, which boiled inside his opened chest. It almost pushed him over the edge, as for the first time in his life, his body’s natural drug-bomb of adrenaline and other chemicals concocted by the regeneration process failed to dampen the excruciating, all-present pain that seared his entire being from within and without alike. He thrashed, finally giving into panic.
The bird screeched next to him, but unlike the giant, those were its death throes.
- Lucky guy, ain’t that right, Jason-boy? That’s gonna leave a mark. - Jason’s co-pilot mocked with a vicious note.
But his brain barely registered anything Fleece was saying, as a tide of his own, primal thoughts filled his mind. He wanted the pain to end, but instead he burned, his regeneration only feeding the chemically-boosted flame.
Dirk looked in abject terror towards his friend, then towards Match, his vision going red. There was no excuse. There were no words to exchange between them.
He would kill the bastard.
On impulse, stronger than anything he’d felt in years, the old soldier raised Morozov’s handgun towards Match, his back wide open down the iron sight. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe a flash of something he hid deep inside, a swirl of emotions he could never allow to bubble to the surface as doing so would cause the man known as “Dirk” to become something entirely different.
But before he could pull the trigger, a giant metal arm covered the angle of his shot.
He was tempted to simply roll under her arm and fill that bastard with lead, damn the consequence.
- He simply followed the RoE you gave us old man. - Barbara’s crackling voice sounded quite different to her normal tone, it was less than happy.
“I know what I said, I know it. But that fucker did it with premeditation”. - Chernobog bit his lower lip until it bled. He wished to say it aloud, nay, yell it out so that Match would know what he did and could prepare for the reckoning that would follow.
But that wasn’t what his team required. Not what was required out of “Chernobog the mercenary”. The machine’s arm left his line of sight as it swatted another wild beast. A wake-up call, to remind him where they were.
- Fuck. - the old soldier mouthed, while bottling down what tried to spill out.
Common practice for him.
Garuda said nothing, instead timely striking down another diving opponent.
The mutated avian cracked mid-air and slammed to the snowy floor near them. It looked hideous, a melted mass of burned tissue and black feathers, somehow larger than even the dog-like beasts they were fighting so far.
- They’ve got the skies. - Dirk screamed into the mic. - I repeat, the enemy is airborne.
- Excuse me? - Spoon spoke on the radio.
- The old man ain’t fucking about, I just burned one of those fuckers. - Match reassured the rest, as if Dirk’s words did not carry enough weight.
- We’re changing tactics. - Dirk continued. - We’ll have to spread thin. Ted, cover Spoon. Elephant, support Becker. Armistice, you’re on Black.
- I can cover myself. - the old grouch objected to any help.
- Copy. - but the team’s medic tarnished his wish with a swift reply.
- Hey! What about me? - Match spoke again.
Hearing his voice made bile rise up in Dirk’s throat.
- You’ve got Argonaut. Stay vigilant, over and out.
- He–
The fire-starter wanted to say something, but Dirk refused to listen, emotions still somewhat clouding his judgement. Once more he glanced towards where Jason burned only to let out a sigh of relief as his friend, temporarily skinless, got off the snowy floor, successfully doused.
He’d be fine in a blink. A small blessing in their current predicament.
The old soldier quickly ducked and shot another two mutants running towards him, nailing one in the eye and another in the front paw it was about to step on. It crashed like a derailed train, then rolled towards him in an uncontrollable spin, brought to a stop only with a decisive stomp that broke its neck. The other one met its end not long after, as Dirk plunged the blade of his hatchet into the weak spot he discovered a while ago.
What little information he’d gleaned from the corpses proved invaluable, as the head of the axe cut through the animal’s skull like a knife through butter, finishing the wounded beast so swiftly it almost seemed merciful.
But even in this battle craze, a peculiar stray thought gnawed at his psyche.
Why were two distinct animal species hunting together as a group?
Guessing would do him no good. What mattered was that a new variable just appeared.
“Whatever shot that green discharge must have something to do with it” - his thought process continued unabated while he shot and hacked in a murderous flow. - “Some kind of military group capable of controlling the fauna?”
No, that would make no sense. Those weren’t human eyes he saw in the green glow. They felt way too feral, too hollow.
A brief chill ran down Dirk’s spine.
No animal was capable of even conceiving this kind of coordinated attack. Probe. Distract. Eliminate the “strongest” and watch the pack crumble.
They were lucky that Pollux was as sturdy as it was, or else they would be in a heap of trouble already.
- Garuda! - Dirk roared on the comms as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on their ends, smitten with static energy. - We’re due for another blast. Run a scan on thermals and find the green bastard before it shoots again!
- Can’t. My sensors are fuzzy at best after the last one.
“Is she fighting half-blind?” - Dirk thought immediately, equally impressed and worried.
- Then everyone else will have to keep their eyes peeled! If you see any green light, report immediately. We’ll have a time-window tighter than the needle’s eye to react. And we will have to react if we want this onslaught to end.
- How do you know it will end if we catch the bastard? - Michael voiced his concerns, doubt apparent in his voice.
- I don’t. But we have to try something, unless you have the ammo to keep killing until the sun rises.
- What about the truck? We should bunker up, at least.
- They’ll topple us in no time, then open us up like a can of sardines. Stand your ground.
- Great first fucking fight. Just my god-damned luck. - Ted threw in his two cents, shooting down a diving bird as it tried to take Spoon’s head off, who was at that moment fiddling with his launcher.
- So we just have to find the big bastard, eh? - the grenadier scoffed. - Match! Throw me “The Thing”!
- I’m busy here! - the trigger-happy pyromaniac screamed back, building a wall of flame between himself and the dogs.
But try as he might, the flames could only do so much damage in so little time, and the hounds started slipping into his safety zone, hellbent on getting rid of him, tongues of living flame dancing on their backs as they charged. Match hesitated for a moment, staggering back, and it was enough for the dogs to lunge.
Two died mid-air, their brains splattered on the ground by Ted’s twitch reaction, but the third made contact, throwing the lad onto the ground under its monstrous momentum.
Ivory teeth flashed in front of his eyes and reflexively he covered his throat with his left arm, avoiding death by the skin of his teeth, but suffering terrible damage as the uneven, razor-sharp fangs dug into his flesh. A pained groan escaped his mouth. Not even a full scream, as the fall knocked the wind out of him.
- Match! - Ted yelled at the top of his lungs with uncanny desperation, his look that of sheer horror mixed with unspeakable rage.
- Get this thing off me! - Match begged, feeling his flesh tug at the bone as the monster tried to rip him apart.
Time slowed down for the poor sod, adrenaline stretching this moment into excruciating minutes as his mind searched for an out. Bone grinded against bone as the malicious jaws clasped his arm ever harder, his other hand flailing uselessly by his side in search for his dropped flamethrower, but in his panic he could not find it. He punched, but his fist bounced off the monster’s head harmlessly. He did so again and again in a span of what felt like a second, only to hit an epiphany as his own blood splashed on his face.
He reached for a small carving knife he always had on him, ready to strike the beast where it was weak. But his hand got shaky with fear, and fingers stiff from the cold. He dropped it once, but grabbed it again, jamming the whole length of the blade into the skull of his adversary. It entered flesh easily, but at an odd angle.
He missed.
He god-damn missed.
There was no time for second tries, as the thing shook the man’s hand out of the way and dove in for a finisher, its soulless eyes as cold as the snow below, its flesh singed and melted. Yet it was stronger than him. More determined. More feral and unwavering, driven by nothing but primal instinct to kill.
But before it struck the killing blow, it suddenly stopped as the ground quaked. With a whine that was cut short like the last words of a man murdered mid-sentence, it got yanked back, its monstrous features stretching into a blur as its body whooshed through the air, only to slam into the ground, and then rise back again.
It was Argonaut who jumped in to help, with his skin charred, melted to his clothes, and peeling off his body. He was holding Match’s would-be killer by its hind legs as he spun the animal above his head with enough strength to make the creature vomit blood from the sheer G-force exerted on its body.
Like a flail, the regenerator swung the bag of flesh around, striking at the incoming hounds with relentless brutality, spilling guts and crushing bones with unspoken ease. After one of the swings, he spun his whole body along with his makeshift weapon, gaining great momentum, only to release his battered victim like a throwing hammer, striking another diving bird square in the chest in an explosion of red and black.
Covering Match with his own body, he intercepted another attacker, putting it into a lethal chokehold that crushed its neck like a paper straw, gaining some space in return.
Match was in shock, having survived the impossible, but instead of wincing in pain, all he could do was look at Argonaut with a conflicted look.
He felt fear.
Almost petrifying him.
But somewhere deep inside, he could feel gratitude. And an inkling of regret.
Their gazes met.
Steam rose from the golden bovine helmet with each breath that the giant took, his whole body moving like an enormous bellow, and though Match felt his heart stop for a moment when the regenerator’s hand moved towards him, it was as if the whole world kicked into overdrive when he recognized the gesture.
He was giving him a hand.
It was like an instinct, borne of respect that the colossus had just earned itself, when Match’s hand twitched to grab it, but he stopped himself midway, struck with a pang of pain and fear.
There was no time for hesitation. The next moment, he felt himself being yanked up into a standing position and pressed into Argonaut’s back with his massive hand as the regenerator turned around to face their foes, ready to protect the fellow soldier at all costs.
It was a wake-up call for the dazed Match.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, he reached for his canister, still hanging from his hip, and stuck something into a port at its bottom. In his hand, he gripped a small capsule covered in his own blood as it slowly filled with an iridescent liquid. When it reached capacity, Match called out, his voice scratchy from all the strain and fear.
- Spoon! - he grabbed his mate’s attention, preparing for what looked like a throw, but midway, his body faltered under the unimaginable strain, locking up his muscles and almost making him drop the item.
Argonaut, however, didn’t let that come to pass.
Whatever the object was, it seemed important. Important enough to make Match forget about his rub with death and fulfill his friend’s request.
The regenerator grabbed the capsule as it slipped from his assigned partner’s hand, and chucked it to Spoon, who snatched it out of the air with a worried look, but got to work on it almost immediately.
- Cover me for a hot minute! - he demanded, retreating closer to the truck, his launcher dangling from its sling as he rummaged in his ammo pouch with his freed hand.
- You have thirty seconds, you bastard. Make them count! - Ted barked back, the rhythmic thrum of his gun reverberating in his voice.
Spoon worked fast once he got what he was looking for. With the capsule from Match in one hand, and an odd-looking grenade in the other, he dismantled the latter, spilling some gray powder from within onto the snow, making room for whatever the capsule contained. With a click, the iridescent liquid mixed with the powder still left in the casing, creating a black, tar-like substance.
The man then reached for a pouch on his arm and pulled out three tiny jars, the contents of which he added with practiced movements, only to speedily close the casing back up. With a violent shake, he loaded the new grenade into his launcher, and with a click of the tongue that said “This better work”, pointed its barrel into the sky.
- This will give us one minute. Find the fucking head-honcho! - he announced as the payload left the tube with a thump, disappearing into the darkness.
The night swelled with anticipation as one second passed, then another, and another. On the fourth, the skies cracked open.
With a crack, a boom and a blinding flash of light, whatever concoction Spoon shot into the air exploded like a firework, fragmenting into dozens of pieces. Each shone with intense red light, bright enough to blind direct onlookers as they lingered in the air. Together, they bathed the whole area in what could only be described as crimson daylight.
Suddenly, the visibility increased a hundredfold, and Dirk could truly take in the scale of the threat that surrounded them.
He expected dozens of hounds to prowl in the darkness, but nothing could have prepared him for what he witnessed. Ranks upon ranks of the monsters lied in wait for their turn to strike, huddled in groups of at least a dozen each. There had to be no less than a hundred of the beasts just staring at them with murderous intent and their teeth bared.
Up above, the situation was no better. A swirling tornado of mutated ravens circled overhead like vultures ready to pick them apart like corpses. A vortex of death on the verge of descending.