Sous and the Ember-Fangs pressed onward like a burning spear driven into the hide of an endless beast. Their blades cut wide arcs through the tide, flames and lightning bursting at each strike, carving temporary pockets of space into which the knights could breathe.
But the swarm was without end.
The Crawlers poured from fissures in the earth, from burrows torn open by their kin, from shadowed pits that yawned like open wounds in the land itself. Every time a soldier cut down one, three more crawled over the corpse, mandibles snapping, legs clawing at steel. The ground itself became alive with their endless tide, a carpet of moving chitin that swallowed all distinction between dirt and monster.
The Ember-Fangs fought valiantly. Yet one by one, their cries cut short as the swarm dragged them down. A knight's flame sputtered as Crawlers swarmed over his frame, claws digging into joints, ripping his armor apart piece by piece until the runes failed and silence consumed him. Another raised his burning sword skyward before a tide of bodies smothered him whole, mandibles tearing away the light.
Sous roared defiance. Penelope's greatsword swung in furious arcs, each strike thunderous, blasting holes in the press. He called lightning from the clouds, he shattered the earth with frozen spikes, he unleashed searing waves of fire—but the sheer mass of Crawlers filled every gap, unending, unyielding. His men began to falter, their line staggered.
And then, the battlefield shifted.
A deafening crack split the air. One of the pelter units' shells, meant for the sea of Crawlers, veered wild. It screamed overhead, trailing sparks and smoke before slamming directly into the Sire's colossal head.
The world shook.
The shell detonated in a bloom of fire and steel, shards of molten shrapnel spraying across the plain. The Sire reeled, its massive frame swaying as the crystal on its back flickered. Its mandibles snapped violently, the sound like boulders colliding, echoing for miles. A guttural, chittering roar rose from deep in its body, so loud it rattled armor plates and jarred teeth loose in men's mouths.
The ground trembled as the behemoth thrashed, its nine legs gouging trenches into the soil. Crawlers were crushed beneath their progenitor's bulk, snapped like twigs, their ichor painting the earth. Still, the horde did not flee. The pulse of the crystal quickened, crimson light blazing brighter than before, and the swarm surged with renewed madness.
Then, the Sire spewed.
From its colossal mandibles poured a stream of hissing green acid. The liquid struck the ground with a sound like boiling oil, and everything it touched disintegrated.
Steel shrieked as it melted, the frames of unfortunate Cardinals collapsing into molten heaps before the pilots' screams were drowned in the sizzling hiss. Crawlers, too slow to scatter, dissolved into heaps of bubbling sludge. The soil itself hissed, burning as if the acid reached down into its very bones.
"Fall back!" Sous commanded, his voice booming across the ranks.
The Ember-Fangs hesitated only a moment before obeying. Formation broke as the knights dragged the wounded and scrambled back from the acid's reach. The retreat was desperate, but discipline clung even to the edge of panic.
Only Sous did not withdraw.
Penelope surged forward. Crimson and gold armor blazed as runes ignited along every seam. Sous leapt into the fray, greatsword raised high, driving straight toward the Sire's thrashing bulk.
"Lord Sous!" the captain cried, horror in his voice. "No—!"
But Sous was already gone, a storm made flesh.
The Sire's many eyes, glimmering with that alien red sheen, fixed upon him. The swarm shifted as though compelled by one mind. Crawlers shrieked, pulling back to clear a path between their progenitor and the lone knight who dared defy it. The air grew heavy, charged, as though the beast's fury warped the battlefield itself.
Sous' heart pounded. Every instinct screamed retreat. His men needed him alive, not buried in acid and claws. Yet he also knew this truth: if the Sire was not stopped here, not checked now, then none of them would survive.
He gripped the hilt tighter.
"Your eyes on me," he muttered, cold as stone. "Your hunger on me."
Penelope's thrusters flared, blasting dust and ichor into the air as the exo-frame launched forward. Sous aimed his sword at the Sire's head, the blade glowing with a mingled fury of fire and lightning.
The Sire shrieked. Acid sprayed again, streams of green death arcing toward him. Sous twisted Penelope aside, the liquid grazing her shoulder and instantly corroding a deep, smoking wound into the plating. Warning runes flared across his console. He ignored them.
Closer. Closer still.
The Sire's mandibles slammed down like cleavers. Sous raised his sword, meeting the impact with a flare of light. The clang was like thunder. Penelope staggered, the force nearly toppling the frame, but Sous braced his legs, absorbing the shock through sheer will. Sparks and acid rain filled the air, a storm of destruction.
Behind him, he could hear his men shouting, but their voices were faint, drowned by the Sire's roar. This was no longer a battle of armies. It was a duel between a man and a monster, between a mortal's defiance and a horror born from nightmare.
Sous bared his teeth.
"You want me?" His voice rose to a shout, raw and terrible. "Then come take me!"
He struck, sword blazing, every ounce of his strength pouring into the blow.
The Sire reared back, massive legs tearing into the ground, mandibles opening wide. The crimson crystal pulsed brighter than ever, spilling light like blood across the battlefield.
The duel had begun.