Each breath Ivan drew scraped like fire through his chest, but he refused to yield. Denzil circled him, mandibles twitching in his hands with predatory precision, eyes scanning for weakness. Blood ran freely from the slashes along Ivan's side, hot against his chitin, dripping in thick streams, but his grip on his weapon did not waver.
Denzil scoffed, his voice edged with disdain. "Still standing? After all that? You're either stubborn or suicidal."
Ivan spat blood onto the cracked ground, the coppery taste sharp on his tongue. "I could ask the same of you. I count six clean cuts across your body. Seems we're both too stupid to fall."
The grasshopper growled low in his throat, his mandibles trembling as though eager to carve flesh. "You dare to speak as if you're my equal?"
"I don't have to be your equal," Ivan said, his voice low, hoarse but steady. "I just have to survive longer than you."
Without warning, they lunged.
The world narrowed to the clash of blades and the roar of their collision. The sheer force of their strike sent violent shockwaves outward, rattling Ivan's bones. Stone shattered beneath their feet with a deafening crack that split the ground, fragments exploding in every direction. Dust and rubble erupted into the air, shrouding them in a suffocating haze, making every breath a choking struggle.
In the chaos, they carved at each other like warriors from a forgotten age, their movements sharp, honed by years of violence, their pain nothing more than fuel. Ivan felt the searing bite of another gash along his ribs, hot blood trickling down his side. In return, he drove his mandibles deep into Denzil's forearm, feeling the sickening crunch as chitin split and gave way beneath his blade. Blood spattered the ground like ink flung from a shattered well, the iron scent thickening the air.
They shoved each other apart, only to lunge again, roaring like beasts, their bodies moving on sheer willpower.
A slice tore across Ivan's shoulder, the impact jarring through his entire arm, but he didn't falter. He growled, sweat and blood dripping from his chin.
"Slower than before," Denzil jeered, his grin savage, twisting his body into a sweeping kick that came fast, aiming to shatter Ivan's guard.
Ivan blocked with a grunt, the bones in his forearms screaming from the impact, and countered with a brutal shoulder thrust that shoved Denzil back several paces.
"You're bleeding," Ivan noted, his voice cold and sharp.
"So are you," Denzil spat, the corner of his mouth twitching in an amused smirk.
Their blood painted the cracked earth, their chitin slick with it. It dripped steadily, like the ticking of a clock counting down their final moments. Slashes rang out again, the metallic clang echoing like thunder in the broken landscape. They no longer cared about their wounds. Pain had become distant, irrelevant. Their bodies were marked by dozens of cuts, from their arms to their sides, even their faces marred by the brutal exchange. Still, neither relented.
Their feet shifted with practiced instinct, digging into the trembling earth. The ground beneath them groaned in protest.
"Let's end this," Ivan said through gritted teeth, his chest heaving, vision beginning to blur around the edges.
Denzil's breathing was ragged, but his smile was still there, faint and resolute. "Agreed."
They knew it couldn't last. The fatigue clawed at their muscles, threatening to pull them down, but they would not collapse until one was gone. There would be no slow victory. Only one decisive strike would finish it.
Together, they surged forward, the speed of their charge making the air itself scream, the rush of wind tearing at the debris around them. Their mandibles clashed with such force that the sound cracked the sky.
BOOM.
The ground beneath them didn't just crack—it exploded. Chunks of rock were hurled into the air, spinning like jagged meteors. A violent shockwave erupted outward, flattening everything in its radius and sending a storm of rubble raining down. The world disappeared in a thick cloud of dust, swallowing all sound, all color.
A deafening silence followed. The kind that presses against your eardrums, unnatural and absolute.
When the haze finally thinned, Ivan stood alone amidst the ruins, one foot near the ragged edge of a fresh crater gouged into the earth by their final clash. His legs trembled violently beneath him, the muscles on the verge of giving out. Blood poured from a deep gash across his chest, warm and sticky as it drenched the front of his battered armor. He willed his legs to hold, refusing to fall.
He wouldn't fall.
Not now.
"...To think," Denzil whispered, his voice barely audible, fragile and unraveling. He panted, his breaths uneven and sharp. "To think I was defeated… by an ant. One of the weakest species in existence."
His laugh came out cracked and bitter, a hollow sound that seemed too small in the vast destruction around them.
"How pitiful… I didn't calculate this outcome."
His gaze drifted skyward, his eyes softening, as if the fight had drained all remaining malice from him.
"Hopper…"
And suddenly, Denzil wasn't standing in the battlefield anymore.
He was a child again.
His shell was still soft, pale with youth, his limbs too thin, his steps unsure. The sun poured golden warmth over a glade where laughter echoed, light and free. Gianna spun in circles nearby, her twin blades clutched lazily, more toys than weapons. Her bright laughter filled the air, pure and endless. Hopper tackled Denzil from behind, both of them tumbling into the grass, grinning like fools.
High above, Sly lounged on a thick tree branch, his lazy smirk stretching wide. "Don't lose to Denzil again, Hopper," he called, resting his head on folded arms.
Gianna sat up and pouted. "They always gang up on me!"
Baracko watched them from a distance, tall and stoic as always, his expression unreadable. But now, Denzil noticed it—something he hadn't seen before. A small, rare smile on Baracko's lips. Pride lingered in his distant gaze. Hope shimmered there, faint but real.
Denzil remembered that day. The warmth of the sun, the scent of crushed grass, the ache in his sides from laughing too hard. He remembered the simple dream they all shared: to rise together, to fight side by side, to become something greater than themselves.
His voice cracked. "What happened to us… Hopper?"
The memory dissolved like smoke, and the chill of the battlefield returned with merciless finality.
His body collapsed with a dull, echoing thud against the ground.
From the shadows, a group of grasshoppers emerged, their limbs trembling as they surveyed the devastation. They had hidden from the storm of battle, but now the silence beckoned them forward.
"No… no way…" one of them whispered, his voice breaking.
"He's… he's not moving…" said another, stepping back in disbelief.
"I can't believe this," gasped a third. "They've slain Denzil… this cannot be happening…"
Their wide, horrified eyes snapped to Ivan, who stood bloodied, unsteady, but still alive. He didn't speak. He just stared at Denzil's fallen form, his expression unreadable.
Panic seized the grasshoppers.
"Run!" a younger one screamed, his voice cracking with terror.
They turned and fled in all directions, their cries vanishing deep into the fortress.
Still, Ivan did not move.
He kept his gaze fixed on Denzil's body, his breathing slow and ragged. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, like a quiet wind through broken trees.
"You were a strong opponent… that's for sure. But in the end… you still lost."
His legs gave out beneath him.
"Damn it…"
His knees buckled—but before he could hit the ground, warm arms steadied him.
He turned his head, squinting through blood and sweat.
"Ruth…" he breathed.
Her face was pale with concern, her hands firm on his shoulders. "Ivan," she said gently, her voice trembling, "you're hurt. We need to patch you up now."
"Don't worry about me," Ivan grunted, forcing a crooked smile despite the pain. "Tend to Leon. He needs it more."
But Ruth didn't move. She stared at him, her wide eyes glimmering with something between awe and disbelief.
"You've done so well, General Ivan," she whispered, her throat tight with emotion. "You… you really managed to defeat a General. One of the five strongest grasshoppers… you actually won."
Ivan gave a weak chuckle, blood still dripping from his chin. "Barely. He almost had me… a dozen times."
She lowered him carefully against a nearby boulder. His armor clinked softly as he leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Leon's stabilized," Ruth said quickly. "But we need healing leaves. I'll go get them."
Her footsteps retreated, the rhythm of her run growing faint.
Ivan let his head rest against the cool stone behind him, breathing slowly, the ache in his chest deep but distant now.
Above, the sky had cleared. It stretched wide and blue, boundless and serene, as if untouched by the blood spilled below.
He exhaled, his voice barely a whisper.
"We've played our part in the infiltration…"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Now it's all up to you… Anastasia… finish this."