Chapter 177: Hard-Shell Tactics

The fog in the square was thick enough to taste. It tasted like wet iron and old mold.

Vane stood on the cobblestones outside the Inn. His spear was leveled. The silver mana of the [Silver Fang] coated the star-metal tip in a silent and deadly shroud.

Isole stood five paces behind him. Her staff glowed with a white and steady light. It cut a cone of visibility through the gloom.

“Visual,” Vane said softly.

“Twelve targets,” Isole reported. Her voice was steady. “Fan formation. They are circling the perimeter.”

The clicking sound stopped.

The shadows detached themselves from the walls of the houses.

The Grain-Maws stepped into the light. They were nightmare distortions of nature. They were the size of wolves but built like beetles. Their bodies were encased in thick black chitin plates that glistened with moisture. Their mandibles dripped a viscous green fluid that sizzled when it hit the stone.

They hissed. It was a sound like steam escaping a valve.

“They are armored,” Vane noted. “Standard insectoid physiology. Aim for the joints and the eyes. Do not let them flank.”

“Understood,” Isole said.

The largest Maw screeched. It lunged.

It moved faster than a creature of its bulk should have. It covered the twenty feet between them in a blur of clattering legs.

Vane did not retreat. He stepped into the charge.

He utilized the Argent Horizon: Second Form.

He spun the spear. The shaft became a silver blur. He caught the Maw’s mandibles on the frictionless sleeve of his mana. He redirected the creature’s momentum. He slammed it into the cobblestones.

The impact cracked the stone. The Maw thrashed. Its legs scrabbled for purchase.

“Clear,” Vane said.

He reversed his grip. He drove the spear down.

The [Silver Fang] bit into the chitin at the base of the skull. There was no resistance. The absolute severance of the authority parted the armor like wet paper.

The Maw went limp. Black ichor sprayed across Vane’s greaves.

The rest of the pack screamed. They swarmed.

“Left flank!” Vane shouted.

Three Maws rushed him from the alleyway. They leaped in unison. Their claws were extended.

Vane prepared to deflect.

A beam of concentrated white light shot past his ear.

It struck the lead Maw directly in its multifaceted eyes. The creature shrieked in agony. It fell out of the air. It crashed into its packmates.

“Blind,” Isole called out.

Vane capitalized.

He transitioned to the First Form: Quicksilver Thrust.

He launched three strikes in a single heartbeat. The spear tip flickered like a viper’s tongue.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Three clean punctures. Three dead Maws.

He spun on his heel. He swept the spear low. He took the legs out from under a fourth beast that tried to circle behind him.

Isole followed up. She did not use a massive explosion. She used a needle of light. She drove it through the exposed underbelly of the fallen beast.

It curled up and died.

“They are brittle,” Vane analyzed. He sidestepped a spray of acid spit. “The chitin is hard but the connection points are weak.”

He moved through the swarm with a cold and mechanical efficiency. He was a thresher in a field of wheat. Every movement was calculated. Every strike was a kill.

The [Silver Fang] was a cheat code against physical armor. The Maws relied on their shells to protect them from pitchforks and arrows. They had no concept of a weapon that rejected durability.

Isole stayed in his shadow. She moved with a grace that surprised him. She didn’t panic. She kept her shield tight to her body. She fired short and controlled bursts of light to disrupt the enemy’s coordination.

“Two left,” Isole breathed. She was sweating but her aim was true.

The remaining two Maws hesitated. They looked at the pile of twitching corpses. They looked at the silver devil standing in the center of the carnage.

They turned to run.

“No witnesses,” Vane said.

He threw the spear.

It flew like a bolt of lightning. It caught the first fleeing Maw in the spine. The force of the throw pinned the creature to the wooden wall of the blacksmith’s shop.

Vane flashed forward.

[Skill: Flash Step]

He appeared in front of the second Maw. He didn’t have his weapon.

The Maw snapped its jaws. It aimed for his throat.

Vane caught the mandibles with his bare hands. He reinforced his gloves with silver mana. He wrenched the jaws apart.

Snap.

He kicked the beast in the chest. It flew backward into the mud.

He walked over and retrieved his spear from the wall. He finished the last beast with a casual thrust.

Silence returned to the square.

Vane shook the black blood from his spear. He looked around.

Fourteen dead Maws lay on the stones. The air smelled of copper and burnt ozone.

“Status,” Vane asked.

“Green,” Isole said. She lowered her staff. “Mana reserves at eighty percent. No injuries.”

Vane walked over to the largest corpse. The one he had pinned to the wall.

He knelt. He used his dagger to pry open the shattered carapace.

“Look at this,” Vane said.

Isole stepped closer. She shone her light on the exposed meat.

The muscle tissue wasn’t red. It was streaked with thick purple veins. The blood was dark and oily. It smoked slightly in the cold air.

“That isn’t natural,” Isole said. She covered her nose. “It smells like chemical runoff.”

“It is mutation,” Vane said. “They have been eating the tainted crops. The soil toxicity is altering their physiology. It makes them bigger. More aggressive.”

“Is it the Necrotic fungus?”

“Related,” Vane guessed. “But distinct. This confirms the environmental hazard level. The entire food chain here is compromised.”

He stood up. He wiped his dagger on the Maw’s fur.

“Level 3 Hazard,” Vane stated. “Standard protocol applies. We locate the nests. We burn the eggs. We cull the population until the ecosystem stabilizes.”

Isole looked at the dead monsters. She looked at the dark windows of the village.

“They were terrified of these things,” she whispered. “They locked their doors and prayed.”

“They are farmers,” Vane said. “To them this is the apocalypse. To us it is Tuesday.”

He checked the perimeter one last time.

“The square is secure. The pack is dead. We go back to the Inn.”

“We aren’t going to hunt the rest?”

“Not at night,” Vane said. “We verified the threat level. We confirmed their weakness. Tomorrow we go to the woods and finish it.”

They walked back to the Inn.

Vane looked at the scratches on the door where the Maws had tried to get in.

He felt a sense of satisfaction. The mission was straightforward. The enemy was physical. There were no ghosts. No dreams. Just bugs with hard shells and soft insides.

They entered the common room. Vane barred the door.

“Get some sleep,” Vane said. “We march at dawn.”

Isole nodded. She looked tired but calm. The fear from the drop had faded. She had faced the monsters and she had won.

“Goodnight Vane,” she said.

Vane sat in a chair facing the door. He rested his spear across his knees.

“Goodnight.”

He watched the candle burn down.

It was a good start. Efficient. Clean.

He closed his eyes for a second.

He didn’t hear the scratching sound coming from the floorboards beneath his feet.

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