Mina's world narrowed to motion and sound.
The ghost scorpion flickered in and out of sight, its pale body blurring as it circled her. Sand kicked up with every step she took, shield and spear moving in constant opposition, one defending, the other threatening.
It struck again.
Too fast for hesitation.
Midnight Dew snapped up just in time, the scorpion's tail scraping across the shield's surface with a screech that sent vibrations up Mina's arm. She pivoted immediately, spear thrusting low, forcing the creature to recoil instead of pressing the advantage.
It didn't retreat far.
Ghost scorpions didn't fear counters. They tested and learned.
The creature vanished and reappeared above her shield, claws extended. Mina dropped her stance, rolling forward as the attack sailed over her head. She came up in one smooth motion, spear sweeping in a wide arc that clipped the scorpion's side.
Not enough to kill.
Enough to anger it.
The scorpion hissed, movements sharpening, attacks chaining together now, tail, claw, feint, strike. Mina gave ground inch by inch, her shield shifting constantly, never settling, always meeting the attack at a different angle.
Then she changed rhythm.
Instead of reacting, she advanced.
Shield first.
The scorpion lunged, expecting retreat, but Midnight Dew slammed into its face, throwing off its timing. Mina stepped in hard, spear driving forward, forcing the ghost scorpion back into the open.
For the first time, it hesitated.
That was all she needed.
Her spear struck again, clean and decisive, piercing through its head. The ghost scorpion convulsed once before collapsing into the sand, body dissolving into lifeless stillness.
Mina exhaled sharply, steadying herself, eyes already searching for the next threat.
Raul was smiling.
Not because it was easy.
Because it wasn't.
The ghost scorpion in front of him was fast, faster than the one Mina faced. Its movements were sharp, precise, built to kill fighters who relied on instinct.
Raul relied on something else.
Flowstep snapped him sideways as the scorpion's tail stabbed where his neck had been a heartbeat earlier. He reappeared low, daggers flashing, only for the scorpion to twist away, claws grazing his shoulder armor.
They traded space instead of blows.
The scorpion attacked in bursts, short, lethal flurries meant to overwhelm. Raul answered by never being where the attack landed, Flowstep dragging him in and out of reach, his blades carving shallow cuts whenever the opening appeared. Tendon, Joint, Sensory ridge.
He wasn't rushing it.
The scorpion adapted, changing angles, cutting off retreat paths, forcing Raul into tighter spaces. One mistake would mean death.
Then Raul stopped retreating.
He stepped into the scorpion's range.
The creature struck instantly.
Flowstep.
Raul vanished and reappeared beneath it, daggers slicing upward, severing one leg. The scorpion shrieked and twisted, tail snapping down, but Raul was already gone again.
Another step. Another cut.
The scorpion staggered, movements faltering.
Raul appeared behind it.
Both daggers crossed in a single, ruthless motion.
The head slid free, hitting the sand a moment before the body collapsed.
Raul rolled his shoulders once and turned back toward the battlefield, smile gone now, focus returning.
The black scorpions hit hard.
Tank and Rook took the first clash head-on. Their bodies slammed into the scorpions, bone and chitin crashing together. One scorpion wrapped a pincer around Tank's neck and tried to crush it. Tank bit down on its tail and yanked, dragging the creature sideways instead.
Another scorpion forced its way through the undead line.
Victor stepped forward to stop it.
Midnight Lake met the pincer with a loud crack. The impact pushed Victor back half a step, sand grinding under his boots, but he held. Guardian's Stance locked his body in place. He swung Midnight Thunder and smashed the scorpion's head from the side. Armor split, but the creature stayed standing.
Arin was already moving.
He cut low, slicing through a joint beneath the armor. "Now," he said, and Victor struck again, this time breaking the leg completely.
Around them, Mina's undead piled onto the scorpions, clawing and biting. Black scorpions crushed skulls and tore bodies apart, but the undead didn't stop. Even when dragged down, they kept pulling, slowing the enemy one body at a time.
Rook took a heavy hit to the head and stumbled. For a second, it looked like it would fall. Then it lunged forward, jaws snapping shut on a scorpion's pincer. Bone and chitin cracked as it tore the limb clean off.
Tank charged through the center, slamming two scorpions together and pinning them in the sand. Arin and Victor finished them quickly.
It was ugly, slow, and Exhausting.
And there were still more coming.
___________________________
Beyond them, Rasir's troops were barely holding.
The hunters fought in tight lines, shields overlapping, spears stabbing forward in practiced rhythm. Every step back was measured. Every retreat bought with blood. Scorpions piled against the formation, bodies stacking until the front ranks had to fight over the dead just to keep their footing.
Rasir stood several strides ahead of them.
He didn't look back.
The captain-rank black scorpion came straight at him, heavier than the rest, armor thicker, movements slower, but carrying brutal force. Its pincers crashed down where Rasir's head had been a heartbeat earlier.
He slid aside, boots cutting shallow grooves into the sand, and drove his spear forward.
The tip struck chitin with a sharp ring, carving a deep groove along the creature's armored plate but failing to pierce through. Rasir didn't linger. He pulled back immediately, resetting his stance before the scorpion could counter.
Behind him, the air changed.
The captain-rank ghost scorpion vanished.
Rasir felt it before he saw it, the pressure shift, the instinctive warning crawling up his spine. He twisted as the creature reappeared at his flank, stinger snapping toward his ribs.
Rasir turned the spear sideways and caught the strike mid-thrust.
The impact slammed through the shaft and into his arms, sharp and numbing, but he held, teeth clenched, and wrenched the weapon aside. The stinger scraped past him, missing flesh by inches.
The black scorpion surged again.
Its tail came down like a falling pillar.
Instead of retreating, Rasir stepped in. He closed the distance and drove the spear hard into the joint beneath the pincer, where the armor thinned. The creature shrieked, staggering back, one limb faltering, but it stayed upright.
The ghost scorpion struck again, faster now. A feint. A withdrawal. Another angle.
It tested him, probing for hesitation.
Two enemies.
Two rhythms.
No room for mistakes.
Rasir adjusted his footing, breath slow and controlled, grip tightening around the spear shaft.
Behind him, his troops shouted, formation straining under pressure.
Ahead of him, both scorpions circled.
The spear came up again.
And this time, neither side held back.