Immediately, the brakes were slammed, halting the advancement of the trucks and allowing the personnel to jump out on high alert.
"What's going on?" the captain asked as he climbed down from the cargo truck.
"We have no idea. Truck One was suddenly attacked," one of the hunters replied, his fingers circling the hilt of a thin-looking saber strapped to his waist.
The scene was quite unpleasant—a 389lb vehicle had been impaled from below by some kind of black, rock-like substance.
The solid structure of the stone exuded a lime-green goo that emitted a faint wave of heat.
The cone-shaped tip of the stone had taken up the entire space inside the truck, even puncturing through the roof.
Bloodstains splattered the truck's interior, dripping from both sides of the windows—clear confirmation that no one had survived.
Sigh... what is this? This was meant to be a rescue mission, but someone turned up dead, the captain contemplated.
This was supposed to be a quick covert unit operation, planned precisely to avoid any errors. But then, unexpectedly, this happened. Either way, they had to move on—whatever had done this might still be nearby.
They could clearly tell a monster was involved; the traces were just too obvious.
Whenever a team member becomes unresponsive, protocol demands they discover and neutralize the threat if possible.
However, the captain wasn't willing to take that risk today. This was a rescue, not a siege.
"Get back into your vehicles, everyone! Let's continue moving!" he ordered.
The others were quite perplexed at his command. The middle-aged man known as their captain had never been one to swallow the death of a comrade easily.
He had once hunted down a Drak that devastated his hometown of Frey—a town known for its vast lands. To this day, he was remembered for the brutality he showed to that creature.
Yet here he was, ordering retreat. Some were reluctant; the two people in that truck—now dead—had been their friends, a husband and a father.
However, there was no other choice but to obey the captain's orders with heavy and cold hearts.
I can't be irrational about this. Two lives may have been lost, but if I proceed with a clouded mind, more will be killed, thought the captain.
The words he told himself were simply to incarcerate the fear stirred by the wraith-like energy diffusing from the obsidian substance.
Fuck, who am I trying to deceive? There's a fucking Two-Bladed Drak silently stalking us. Concern shadowed every one of his thoughts.
Although he was a Level Four, and his troops were made up of Level Twos and Threes, they were still no match for a Two-Bladed Drak.
Even he would struggle against a One-Bladed Drak if faced alone—it had once taken two Level Fours just to match its strength.
Let alone a Two-Bladed Drak—one calculated strike could pulverize him. Even if his troops joined the fray, their lives would be extinguished in an instant.
Yes, he had killed a Drak to save his hometown, but that was a no-blade arachnid—strong, but nowhere near the scale of a Two-Bladed threat.
The engines started almost simultaneously, signaling their intent to continue the journey to safety.
It seemed peaceful as they proceeded—nothing strange was sighted to raise any alarm.
They went deeper into the desert, soaring gracefully through the vast landscape.
The sun rose above the horizon, painting the sky—barely freckled with white clouds—into a vast, broken canvas.
The temperature waned as a light, cold breeze unsettled the resting tumbleweeds.
The cargo truck that housed the captain and Victor was nestled among the others, shielded from all sides.
Far behind the convoy, one particular truck lagged slightly, piloted by three individuals who carefully maintained formation.
Unbeknownst to them, a silhouette moved with languid grace, creeping up behind the truck. As its shadow grew larger, a vaguely humanoid upper body came into view.
By the time the convoy reached the center of the barren sands, in the blink of an eye, the trailing truck was struck from the side—sent tumbling by brute force.
A matted black tentacle recoiled from the impact, while the truck lay completely flattened, its passengers crushed within.
SHREEEEE!!
A shriek tore through the air, sharp enough to split stone. It disrupted all signals in the area.
Shhh—!! "Fuck, I can't contact the base!" the captain cursed, slamming the radio in frustration.
What he had feared had now appeared—and taken down another team in the process.
His gaze darted to the Doc, who remained surprisingly calm, tending to the unconscious Victor. The Doc adjusted his glasses occasionally, then lightly straightened his lab coat.
"Why are you so calm?" the captain asked.
He was here pulling his hair out, panicking over how bad their situation had gotten, while—
"What can I do?" the Doc replied. "I only know how to help a sick person with my ability. I'm no help here. Besides, living in this world has made me expect death someday."
"Whether by the hands of a human or a beast, I have no reason to fear when death knocks at the door."
"I'll die eventually. So what's so wrong about coming to terms with it?"
What the fuck is wrong with this guy? Is he on crack? the captain thought. I'm not meeting my demise so soon—not without fighting back!
He dashed toward the back of the truck, peeking through a small glass panel that could deflect bullets—but was useless against a Drak.
His eyes widened, trembling at the edge of panic.
Shit, shit, shit, shit... Octopodidae-type Drak.
There it was—elevated on over a dozen tentacles, standing fifteen feet tall—a creature straight from a nightmare.
Its head bore the silhouette of a cleaved triangle—the jagged edge forming what should have been a face, yet it was far from anything human or familiar.
SHREEEEE!!
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