"Gore-Claws?" I repeated, my brain trying to parse the terrible, 90s-metal-band name. "What the hell is a Gore-Claw?"
The trees exploded.
They didn't just move. They shattered as two... no, three... massive, sleek, black creatures burst from the forest line.
They weren't Orcs. They weren't Romans. They were... panthers. Giant, shadowy panthers, the size of a smart-car, but with six legs. Their bodies were covered in what looked like natural, bone-white armor plating, and the "claws" on their feet were the size of scythes.
"TO YOUR DEFENSES!" the Princess shrieked, this time in perfect, panicked English. She ripped her massive longsword from its sheath. "They hunt in packs! Aim for the eyes!"
"FRIEND OR FOE?!" the Lieutenant yelled, his brain clearly short-circuiting.
"DOES IT LOOK FRIENDLY, SIR?!" I screamed back.
The creatures didn't "charge" like the Orcs. They flowed. They moved with a terrifying, silent, liquid grace.
"LIGHT 'EM UP! LIGHT 'EM UP!" the Lieutenant ordered.
I dove back toward my Humvee, scrambling behind the engine block as the .50 Cal opened up again. CHUNK-CHUNK-CHUNK-CHUNK!
The new gunner (a guy I didn't know) aimed at the lead creature. But this wasn't an Orc. This wasn't a Tank. The creature jinked. It moved sideways, a black blur, at an impossible speed. The .50 cal rounds—the god-killing bullets—tore up the empty dirt where the creature used to be.
Shit. My blood ran cold. High 'Evasion' (EVD) stat. This isn't a 'Tank' build... this is an 'Assassin' build!
One of the Gore-Claws leaped. It was a 40-meter jump. It sailed over the sandbags, over the razor wire, and landed inside the perimeter. A private screamed. The creature was on him, all six claws and a flash of fangs. It was over in a second.
This wasn't a "mob." This was a "mini-boss."
"ROGERS! GET YOUR RIFLE!" the Lieutenant was screaming, firing his sidearm uselessly at the creature's armored back.
The second Gore-Claw swerved and slammed into the Knight-Princess. I expected her to fly apart. Instead, there was a sound like two church bells colliding. CLAAAAANG! Her silver armor held. She shouted a word in that Holy-magic-sounding language, and her sword ignited with blue-white fire. She was a "Paladin." She was a real-life Paladin. She parried a claw, sparks flying, and shoved the creature back. She was actually... tanking it.
The third creature, the largest one, stopped at the edge of the carnage. It sniffed the air. Its glowing, yellow eyes scanned the battlefield. It ignored the soldiers on the sandbags. It ignored the Lieutenant. It looked... ...right... ...at... ...me.
It had seen me. It had seen me at the .50 Cal. It had seen me talking to the Princess. In a battle, you always kill the guy who isn't a generic soldier. You kill the "Support." You kill the "Healer." Or... you kill the "Specialist" who looks like he's in charge.
"Uh... guys?" I said, raising my own, useless M4 rifle. The Lieutenant was busy trying to save the private. The .50 Cal was trying to hit the one the Princess was fighting. No one was looking at me.
The giant Gore-Claw hissed. And then... it vanished. Not "ran away." It vanished. Like a "Stealth" ability. One second it was there, a 1,000-pound killing machine. The next, it was just... gone.
I stood alone by my Humvee. The forest was silent again.
"Sarge...? Lieutenant...?" I stammered, my back pressing against the Humvee's grille. "Did... did anyone else see that? The 'Stealth' ability? Guys...?"
A low, purring growl came from... my left. No. My right. No... above me.
I looked up. Two yellow eyes, glowing in the shadow of the Humvee's roof rack. It had "Shadow-Stepped."
Oh, this is how the run ends, my gamer brain thought, in a moment of pure, calm, idiotic clarity. This is the 'Party Wipe'.