V2 Chapter 4 - Clash
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IF THE BATTLEFIELD IS HELL, THEN I'M THE DEVIL
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The bandits are getting close—too close for comfort. In the hours that we’ve been preparing they’ve drawn closer, the mass visible from the entrance of the cave now. My muscles tense, tight like a twig ready to snap. I watch them approach from within the cave, trying to count their numbers, but it’s no use with the small viewpoint I have access to. There are too many, more than the Swarm has ever fought before. But that only makes me more eager to tear into them.
We’ve doubled our numbers from when we first entered the mountain alongside mother weeks ago. These humans have no idea what they’re getting into.
Call it reckless and odd, but this is what I live for, the thrill of battle, the rush of overpowering an enemy. No plans, no strategies—just raw, unfiltered combat. My sister can have all the clever traps and careful strategies. I prefer to let my strength speak for itself. Gotta put my size to use somehow.
My eyes lock onto the largest one, who I presume to be the Bandit King, the one leading the unruly pack. He stands out amongst his peers, his height giving him an extra head or two over the tallest humans among them. I don’t care about his title or whatever makes him so special. All I see is another challenge, a bigger, stronger foe that I can crush to relieve some long pent-up stress and worry. He’s not afraid to lead his men right into the mouth of the mountain, and that’s just fine with me.
I roll both my shoulders, feeling the satisfying crack of my joints, and flex my grip on the four swords in each of my hands. My mandibles itch to rip into something solid, something that’ll fight back. Sparing with my sister doesn’t cut it when all she does is ‘tactically retreat.’ The bandits are at the entrance now, pausing for a moment like they can sense what’s waiting for them inside. But the big one doesn’t hesitate, taking a step forward as he turns to address his peers. He barks something in the human language, and surprisingly, the bandits assume some sort of rectangular formation. They look a little more like a group of soldiers now.
One human steps forward and out of the formation, clearly straining to carry the sizable object in his hands. As he lifts it up into the light it becomes more visible, the outline of a massive double-sided ax coming into view. It’s nearly the size of the Bandit King himself, the ax head alone at least two times larger than his head. Then he does the unthinkable and picks up the weapon from the struggling human with just one hand, slinging it over his shoulder rather effortlessly. Even if he was pretty big in more ways than one, I don’t remember humans having that kind of strength.
The weight of his weapon alone looks like it should be impossible to wield, designed for a giant if anything. Yet he handles it with ease. Maybe this strength was why the knights respected the bandits? The thought doesn’t scare me. If anything, it excites me even more. If he’s that strong, then he’ll put up a real fight. What more would mother think of us, of me, if we were to beat someone that had earned the respects of the humans?
I glance at the others, the rest of the Swarm waiting behind me in the shadows of the cave. I can sense their tension, their eagerness to fight. But there’s also a bit of nervousness, a feeling of anxiety that hasn’t been felt since our fight against the monster that resided here before us. We’ve trained for this, prepared for this moment when the humans would come. But none of that matters now. All that matters is the battle ahead, the chance to prove my newfound strength. I would make mother proud.
The bandits, now fully situated with the handoff of the King’s weapon, enter the cave slowly, several of them tossing torches far ahead. I fear that they will try to illuminate the ceiling or walls where we hide, but they land throughout the open room, lighting up small portions of empty ground before they fade into the darkness.
They step in further, on edge as they wave their torches around, most likely in search of us. They’re nearly all the way inside when the Bandit king looks up, and whispers something to his companions that makes them all stop in their tracks. He continues to look up, seemingly following the rows of strikers and defenders waiting to descend on command. Could he….Could he see them?
The torchlight gives them some visibility, sure, but they shouldn’t be able to see those waiting above. It’s like he had the same ability as Ulric, which could be very possible given his status. My theory of our detection is confirmed when he snatches a torch from one of his companions and throws it straight up, revealing a plethora of red eyes staring down at their group.
When my sister gives the signal earlier than intended, I don’t need to be told twice. I explode out of the shadows with a roar, leading the charge as we descend on the bandits. Their only way out is cut off as boulders rain from above, taking out at least a dozen humans lurking near the rear of their formation. Immediately the bandits toss away their torches, pulling out a uniform set of regular sized axes as they assume a circular formation. How were they supposed to see without their only source of light?
Yet they continue to surpass my expectations as they meet us head on, staring us down as they aim their weapons towards us. I had thought that it was just the sound of our footsteps, but when a thrown dagger bounces off my arm during our charge, the perpetrator looks dead at me as he throws a second that I deflect this time.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
When we finally meet the circle of humans, their abilities to see just as well as we do becomes clear as our attacks are repelled. My swords meet resistance as I slam into the outer circle of bandits from the left side of the entrance, metal meeting metal as my opponent looks at me in awe. Clearly he wasn’t expecting someone of my size, my imposing figure towering over him in a way that makes me look like a giant. He parries my next swing from the right, but it’s rather futile when I have three more blades to work with. Another swing from the right and left at the same time leaves him confused, and a third strike from above seals his fate as the sword lodges itself in his head.
I don’t stop to see if they’re dead, simply ripping out the sword as two more bandits rush to fill the gap, their eyes wide with the realization that they’re up against something far worse than they ever imagined.
Good. Let them feel that fear. Let it twist in their guts.
One of them swings at me, a desperate, clumsy arc that I deflect with ease. My swords are an extension of my fury, able to cut through their defense with relentless precision. I don’t even have to enhance my abilities to overpower them. They’re rather organized for bandits, I’ll give them that—moving in unison, their formation overlapping to cover openings as they try to ward off our attack. But they’re not prepared for something like me. They can’t be.
I thrust forward, one blade piercing through a man’s chest, the force of the blow lifting him off his feet before I toss him and the sword aside like the piece of trash that he is. The other swings at me again, more determined this time, but it doesn’t matter. His ax meets my sword, and my now free hand takes hold of his arm, the human wrestling to get it free. With a powerful twist of my wrist, I disarm him, sending his weapon clattering to the ground. He’s defenseless, staring up at me with eyes full of terror as I bring my sword down, lodging my sword in yet another head.
There’s no time to relish in the kill—more are coming, and I welcome them. I pull the sword out and pick up the discarded ax, using it to occupy my empty hand. I charge into the fray before they can cut me off, successfully infiltrating their ranks as I do my chosen job of disruption. The portion of the Swarm that joined me in the initial charge follows my lead, our numbers overwhelming the bandits from the inside. Yet they fight with a ferocity that I didn’t expect, seemingly adapting to the situation rather efficiently. It doesn’t make much sense considering how disorganized they’ve been in the past. They’re not like the bandits we’ve faced before. These ones are stronger, more disciplined, and they’re fighting as if they can somehow win.
But I’m not going to let that stop me. I was born for this—for the heat of battle, the taste of blood on my mandibles. Every strike, every kill is a reminder of what I’m capable of, of the strength that courses through me. The humans are strong, their axes the prime weapon for dismantling our shells, but I know better than to give them the opportunity to do so. Mother would be proud, I know she would. She wanted warriors, and that’s what I’ve become.
I’m living in the moment, high and drunk on the feeling of combat until I catch sight of the Bandit King again at the forefront of their formation. He too is living in the moment, his massive ax carving through the Swarm with brutal efficiency. He's huge, his ax just as large, and somehow, he swings it around as if it were a dagger. He’s surrounded by bodies, both human and my own kin, yet he shows no signs of slowing down. He’s a force of nature, every swing of his ax cutting down anyone who dares to come near him.
My exhilaration falters as I watch him fight. He’s not just another enemy to crush—he’s a monster like us. Despite the odds, he keeps going, his eyes filled with a focus that unnerves me. The Bandit King’s every move is calculated, precise. He’s not just swinging wildly; he’s anticipating our attacks, countering them with terrifying skill.
Then it happens. His gaze shifts from the Swarm he’s been cutting down to a figure at the edge of the battlefield—my sister. She’s directing our forces, her mind always three steps ahead, planning, strategizing, ensuring our victory. But she’s not prepared for him. She’s not like me—she doesn’t thrive on direct combat. She needs her distance, her traps, her cunning to win.
He sees her, and something in his expression changes. There’s a recognition, a shift in his focus as if he’s found the true threat. My antennae perk up, and a cold dread seeps into my exoskeleton.
“No,” I whisper, my voice drowned out by the chaos around me.
He charges toward her, his massive frame moving with a speed that belies his size. My sister sees him too late. She tries to retreat, her eyes widening with alarm, but he’s too fast, too strong. I start to move, but I’m too far away. The humans in front of me are still blocking my path, their desperation turning to madness as they sense their leader’s intent.
The King slows down just a bit as he leans back, before he throws his ax at a speed that makes it seem as if it were as light as an arrow.
“NO!” I scream, my voice a roar that echoes through the cave. I surge forward, cutting through the bandits with a fury I didn’t know I possessed, but it’s like wading through deep water. The distance between us is too great, the humans too many.
My sister catches my voice just in time, ducking as the ax collides with the wall above her head with enough force to make a crack run up the rock.
I see it in her eyes—her calm, collected demeanor cracking as she realizes he’s approaching her. He’s seen through her plans, and now he’s set his sights on her, intent on finishing what he started as he sprints towards her.
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The Origin of Artifacts in the World of Ninety-Seven
From the moment supernatural forces came into being, countless people and organizations around the world have tried to imbue these powers into special items. Although there are many reasons for creating magic items, such as curiosity or desire for glory, there are two true “origins” that have given birth to mystical artifacts. First, these objects can emerge from the strong desire of those with no magical attributes or powers to use special abilities that match the impossible abilities of those who do wield them. However, perhaps the greatest motive of all behind this act is an avid desire to enhance one’s own creative powers and find a way to channel these into even greater abilities. The creation of supernatural and mystical artifacts objects can happen in many different ways, but generally there are three kinds of artifact: those imbued with pure magic, designed artifacts, and spontaneous creations.