Ant A recovered from the initial impact with a clumsy movement of its head.
Marcus saw it clearly: the combo he had managed to land hadn't pierced the exoskeleton, but it had disrupted its internal balance. The insect wasn't retreating from pain—it was because its body needed to readjust.
Ant B didn't give him time to insist.
It attacked from the other side, closing the angle with a direct charge. Marcus didn't step back in a straight line; he took a short, precise diagonal step, just enough to get his body out of the trajectory without losing position. The ant's mass brushed past him, unable to correct its movement in time.
Marcus ended up at its side.
He didn't aim for the head or torso. He rotated his hips and delivered a strike to the joint of the leg, at the exact point where the exoskeleton needed to flex to support weight. The impact wasn't spectacular, but it was correct. The joint gave just enough to break its balance.
Ant A attacked from his side. Marcus felt it through the vibrations in the ground. He raised his right arm and blocked instinctively, trusting the gray plates covering him. The mandibles slammed against his forearm with brutal force.
And the impact reverberated through the chamber, dry, heavy, and scraping across the armored surface, reaching flesh.
He felt the scratch. Deep. Hot.
It wasn't lethal.
That was what mattered.
Marcus accepted the damage without altering his posture or facial expression. Retreating at that moment would have been a mistake: increasing distance would only have given the ant more space to complete the jaw movement and deepen the wound in his arm.
Staying close limited his adjustment options and the effective force of his attack.
Taking advantage of that margin, Marcus flexed his legs and jumped vertically—a short, controlled movement within the confined space. His knee struck beneath the ant's head, at the junction where the exoskeleton was least rigid and the structure lost stability.
The strike wasn't clean, but it was enough to disrupt its rhythm.
Before the creature could react, Marcus followed with a direct right punch forward. He didn't load the punch; he executed it from his current position, using minimal rotation.
The impact caused the ant to lose balance and stagger, forced to readjust its posture to avoid falling.
Then Marcus stepped back too.
Not out of fear.
For space.
He repositioned himself in the relative center of the chamber, avoiding being trapped between wall and enemy body. His breathing was deep, controlled.
The pain in his arm was there, present, but functional. The wound was within the tolerable limit.
This was the key point.
Marcus wasn't fighting to stay unscathed. He was fighting to win.
And winning here meant accepting exchanges.
Marcus turned his head just enough to locate Ant B.
He didn't need more. In the same motion, he rotated his torso and shifted his weight onto his supporting leg, using the inertia accumulated from the previous combat.
His opposite leg rose in a tight, precise arc, executing a high kick aimed directly at the ant's head.
He executed a spinning hook kick.
The impact wasn't clean, but it was forceful. The neck structure absorbed the force poorly, and the creature lost alignment. Its body tilted to the left, legs uncoordinated, forced to correct itself to avoid toppling.
He turned to face the other ant.
The ant was charging when Marcus decided to switch focus.
Instead of stepping back or intercepting, he dropped sharply, lowering his center of gravity until a knee grazed the ground.
The charge of the ant passed over him, and Marcus used the momentum to slide under the creature's body—a movement typical of close-quarters combat adapted to the size difference.
From that position, he wrapped both arms around the ant's neck, adjusting his grip from below, seeking control rather than brute force.
The exoskeleton resisted, but the momentum was already on his side.
Marcus screamed as he exerted effort, twisting his entire body, using hips, legs and back to complete the movement. The ant's mass lost stability and crashed to the ground, overturned, legs tangled, body exposed.
Marcus knelt beside the toppled Ant A and began striking its head relentlessly. Precision wasn't the goal now, but accumulated damage.
The punches came straight down, leveraging the skull's position against the floor, transmitting force through his knuckles and body weight.
The exoskeleton began to crack—not instantly, but through structural fatigue—until the impacts sank in more easily.
Then he made a mistake.
Focused on finishing one threat, Marcus didn't notice movement behind him.
Ant B advanced slowly, adjusting its angle, and when it was close enough, it bit. The mandibles clamped onto Marcus's back with violence, piercing gray plates and reaching flesh. The impact was dry, brutal.
Marcus clenched his teeth instantly. The pain was intense, deep, but not paralyzing.
He didn't scream.
He didn't turn.
Any sudden movement could worsen the damage or leave him exposed to a second bite. Instead, he took a short, controlled step forward, trying to change the angle of the mandible closure.
Marcus fully rotated to face Ant B. The creature's jaws were streaked with red, blood still dripping slowly from serrated edges, marking the floor with irregular stains.
There was no hesitation in its posture.
The ant knew it had caused damage and sought to increase it.
It lunged at him immediately, closing the distance with a direct charge. Marcus stepped back, short and measured, just enough to get out of the attack line.
The mandibles slammed violently in the space he had just occupied, clashing with a dry sound.
Marcus didn't wait.
The ant charged again, correcting its angle. Marcus feinted to the right—a clear, visible gesture meant to lure the attack.
The creature responded as expected, turning its body to intercept.
At that moment, Marcus changed direction. He shifted to the left, lowering his torso and sliding under the arc of the attack, letting the ant's mass continue uselessly.
As he rose, his eyes fixed on the leg he had damaged earlier. The support was unstable. The joint no longer responded precisely. Marcus didn't waste time searching for another target.
He struck.
A sharp, direct punch to the same area.
Then another from the opposite angle, taking advantage of the rebound from the first. He alternated impacts without using full force, focusing on repeated damage to the weakened point.
The exoskeleton began to give way—first with visible cracks, then with noticeably less resistance.
One final blow finished breaking the structure. The leg bent unnaturally, and Ant B lost stability, forced to place weight where it could no longer support itself.
Marcus stepped back, measuring the damaged leg. It no longer supported the ant. Yet caution kept him alert; he couldn't be overconfident.
Suddenly, a tremor ran through the ground and a deep, muted roar made him lift his gaze. Ant A had gotten back up. This time it didn't aim for the head or a lateral strike: it drove its mandibles straight into Marcus's abdomen.
The pressure was immediate. Marcus tried to react, but the creature's momentum was too strong. It dragged him mercilessly toward the back of the cave, and for an instant, all he could do was hold on, resisting the pull as the ant's strength pushed him to the limit.
His back struck the chamber wall. The space had become an enemy: too narrow to move freely, too short to dodge or reposition.
The ant retreated briefly, then reopened its jaws, signaling intent to cause more damage.
Marcus assessed the situation: no room to step back, laterally or vertically. Every millimeter of the cave was occupied by the ant's mass and his own monstrous form.
In a moment of calculated desperation, Marcus pushed off the nearby wall with all his strength. He leapt, spinning his body in the air, controlling his weight and balance perfectly, landing atop the ant as if mounting it.
His weight slammed against the insect's neck.
With brutal effort, he grabbed the mandibles and began lifting with all his arm strength. Plates and muscle fibers tensed, every nerve connected to a single purpose: breaking the creature's resistance.
Ant A thrashed erratically, shaking against the walls of the cave, dragging Marcus from side to side. The impact against the rock was constant, dry, each collision sending vibrations through Marcus's body. Still, he didn't release.
He couldn't.
All his attention focused on one objective: the neck.
Marcus ignored his surroundings. Ignored the pain climbing his arms and the pressure in his abdomen.
His mind narrowed on the structure in his hands. He noticed the rigidity of the exoskeleton, the uneven resistance between plates, the way the neck yielded slightly when force was applied at a precise angle.
He adjusted his grip—not instinctively, but analytically—seeking the point where the structure failed unevenly.
He flexed his arms and tensed his back, engaging shoulders, lats, and legs simultaneously.
He didn't yank suddenly. He applied constant pressure, increasing force gradually, forcing the material to fatigue.
He knew a sudden break would waste energy. The neck had to fail through accumulation.
The ant kept thrashing, but Marcus no longer reacted to its movements. He anticipated the sway, using it to enhance the torsion instead of losing grip. Each shake was redirected. Each twist leveraged to increase tension.
The exoskeleton emitted muted sounds, deep cracks indicating internal fractures. Marcus clenched his teeth, breathed steadily, and pushed a little more, ignoring the tremor through his muscles.
Resistance dropped suddenly, as if something internal had given way.
Then came the final sound.
A clean, definitive crack.
Marcus froze for a second, ensuring there was no response. Only when the ant's dead weight confirmed itself beneath his hands did he slowly loosen his grip, letting the body collapse lifelessly onto the cave floor.
Marcus exhaled deeply and descended from Ant A's back, advancing toward B.
He moved slowly. His steps echoed softly in the cave, measured, deliberate, secure. Ant B crawled awkwardly ahead, its broken leg dangling uncontrollably, leaving a streak of blood on the damp stone.
He bent briefly, without haste, and picked up the damaged leg with a firm hand. He lifted it a few centimeters, as if holding any other object, with no visible tension.
He walked toward the creature, each step deliberate, resonating against the chamber walls.
The echo amplified his presence, but he remained silent inside, completely focused.
Reaching the ant, he stopped. The creature continued dragging itself, uselessly trying to turn, too weak. Marcus stood over it calmly, the leg still in his hand, an extension of his controlled decision.
Calm enveloped him; there was no rush.
Then, in a controlled motion, he began striking downward: bam, bam, bam. Each impact resonated against the ant's exoskeleton and the rock, measured, precise, without apparent emotion.
Marcus maintained an upright, firm posture, breathing slowly, observing every response from the monster.
The chamber witnessed the contrast: the violence of the blows against the absolute stillness of their executor.
Nothing was rushed.
Nothing accidental.
Marcus remained calm, each strike calculated, each step measured, every movement a conscious act of absolute control. The ant could no longer respond. Its efforts were absorbed by the deliberate human precision.
The peace of Marcus amid the cave's storm dominated the scene.
Marcus lowered his breathing slowly, feeling his body regain partial normalcy.
He returned to human form and inspected his wounds with clinical calm.
A cut ran along his right forearm, another across his right shoulder. His left wrist bore a deep slash, evidence of Ant A's attack. A couple of punctures in his back had penetrated enough to be concerning—the most worrisome. His stomach had a few wounds too, but nothing threatening his immediate mobility.
He mentally analyzed how he had mitigated the damage. The plates had functioned as passive defense, absorbing much of the cutting force. For the punctures in his stomach, instinct and experience had allowed him to curl at the right moment, catching the monster's jaws with strength and preventing deeper penetration, dampening the impact.
Liora would be very useful right now, he thought pragmatically. She could stabilize him quickly, without wasting time. He took a deep breath and stood slowly, testing his body.
Marcus lifted his gaze. The collapsed rocks in front of him groaned and crumbled slowly, turning into sand that slid to the sides. An opening formed in the wall before him, revealing a clear path that unfolded like a silent invitation to move forward.