Sous moved like a streak of living fire.
The battlefield was no longer a clash of armies, but a graveyard of twisted steel and shattered earth. Broken Cardinal frames lay scattered across the plain like discarded toys, their rune-plates flickering faintly in dying sparks. The stench of burning ichor mixed with the acrid bite of acid smoke, and through it all, Sous darted. Penelope's crimson frame gleamed, battered but unbroken, weaving between the towering legs of the Sire.
His sword, wreathed in elemental fury, flashed again and again. Blades of fire seared across its armored plates, scorching chitin to black. Thrusts of lightning jabbed for weak points, the blade hissing as it sank between ridges of hardened flesh. Icy shackles formed where his will struck, binding a joint or a claw for precious seconds before shattering under the Sire's raw force.
But the monster adapted.
The Sire's colossal body moved with terrifying agility for its size. Each step shook the world, nine legs gouging the earth deeper with every strike. Its mandibles snapped, shards of stone and steel flying wherever they struck. Acid belched from its maw in searing arcs, each spray melting through the ground as though the soil itself screamed. One direct hit would annihilate even Penelope.
Sous barely avoided a limb that slammed into the dirt, the shockwave hurling his frame aside. He rolled with the momentum, rising into a crouch, his breath steady even as warning sigils blazed red across Penelope's consoles.
The realization had set in.
Killing it—slaying the Sire outright—was near impossible. Already he had carved wounds into its chitin, slashed glowing rents into its hide, but every strike seemed swallowed by its impossible vitality. Where fire charred it, blackened plates cracked and peeled, only for new growth to force itself out. Where lightning seared through gaps, sizzling its flesh, the muscle beneath seemed to knit with unnatural speed. Even ice that split its limbs apart gave way as steaming tissue burst the shackles wide.
It was not immortal. But it was close enough.
Sous tightened his grip on the sword hilt, his jaw clenched. "Then I won't cut the beast…" he muttered to himself. "I'll cut its leash."
The swarm. The endless tide.
They did not move without purpose, without unity. No matter how many fell, their rhythm was too sharp, too controlled. Their instincts had been bound to the will of the crystal and the beast that bore it. A hive given single purpose. A conductor's hand.
The Sire.
Sous' gaze swept across the monstrous body, searching past the glaring red glow of its crystalline spire. And then he saw it: swollen nodes pulsing faintly beneath the beast's thorax. They glimmered like sacks of molten glass, faintly lit from within, the sacs that carried whatever vile chemical bound the Crawlers to their master.
He knew then what needed to be done.
Sous shifted Penelope's stance, coiling low. Energy built along the frame's thrusters, glowing crimson from vents along its calves. His sword hummed, wreathed in jagged sparks.
The Sire shrieked, sensing his intent. Its mandibles clacked violently, sparks spraying as it slammed them together like grinding millstones. One limb swept down, a battering ram of chitinous death.
Sous darted left, the strike obliterating the earth where he'd stood. He leapt forward, boosters flaring, slicing across the leg as he passed. The blade dug deep, leaving a smoking wound—but the monster barely staggered. Another leg shot out, and he vaulted over it, flipping, Penelope's massive form moving with a grace that belied its size. Acid hissed past him, droplets spattering Penelope's plating and eating black scars into her crimson surface.
Then he saw the gap.
The sacs. Pulsing. Waiting.
Sous drove Penelope forward in a straight charge, his voice a thunderous roar as he raised the sword. The blade blazed with lightning, arcs crawling up its length, the storm gathering at his command.
"For the kingdom!"
He struck.
The sword plunged beneath the Sire's thorax, piercing one of the swollen glands. With a sound like tearing flesh and breaking glass, the sac ruptured.
A torrent of acidic ichor burst outward, spraying across the battlefield in a steaming arc. Crawlers shrieked as the fluid rained upon them, their bodies sizzling, some dissolving instantly in grotesque heaps. Even the earth bubbled, trenches forming where the ichor splattered.
Inside Penelope, warning alarms screamed as droplets corroded parts of the plating. Sous gritted his teeth, forcing the frame forward, twisting the blade to widen the wound.
The Sire howled.
Its cry was deafening, an alien shriek that split the heavens, echoing across miles. The crystal on its back pulsed erratically, flickering between blood-red brilliance and fractured bursts of dim light. The swarm faltered. For the first time, their rhythm broke. The perfect tide stumbled, Crawlers twitching and screeching without unity, some lashing blindly at one another as confusion spread like fire.
Sous pulled Penelope free, ichor dripping from the sword, smoke hissing where acid burned at the blade's runes. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but his eyes never left the beast.
One sac down. More remained.
The Sire staggered, its legs slamming wildly into the ground, crushing its own kin in its fury. Its mandibles snapped, spittle and acid spraying in uncontrolled arcs. It was enraged now, its focus fully on him. Exactly as he intended.
Sous readied his stance again, sword blazing as sparks danced from its edge. He could hear his men distantly, calling his name, their voices desperate, their formation broken. But he did not falter.
He would not run.
If this was what it took to break the beast's leash—to sever the will that bound thousands of lives to death—then he would do it himself.
"Penelope," he whispered, steady and resolute. "Once more."
The crimson frame flared with light, thrusters igniting, runes pulsing across its plates. Sous surged forward, eyes locked on the next sac, his voice rising above the monster's shriek.
"For every man dragged beneath their swarm… for every family broken by their hunger… your reign ends here!"
The clash of knight and monstrosity raged anew, fire and acid burning the battlefield into a vision of hell itself. But Sous had drawn blood. He had broken the perfect rhythm. And in that chaos, he had carved the first step toward hope.