The clearing had become a chaotic theater of primal violence. The air was thick with the high-pitched, maddening drone of the mosquito beast's wings and the guttural, stone-grinding snarls of Lumy. They were locked in a dance of death, two Rank F predators refusing to yield. Lumy's obsidian scales were no longer pristine; deep gouges marked her flanks where the insect's serrated legs had scraped away her armor. Thick, dark fluids oozed from her wounds, shimmering with a faint bioluminescence before hitting the dirt.
The mosquito was in even worse shape. Its massive abdomen, once a vibrant mosaic of stolen life, was now shriveled and bruised. Every time Lumy connected with her Voidlit Ravage, the dark energy ate away at the insect's reserves. The shadow-flame on her claws didn't kill the mosquito instantly, but it forced the beast to burn through its stored blood just to keep its exoskeleton from shattering.
"Keep going, Lumy! You're wearing it down!" Armen shouted, but his voice was strained.
As the fight dragged on, a sharp, stabbing pain began to bloom in Armen's chest. It wasn't a physical wound, but a spiritual one. Every time Lumy flared her light-spikes or wreathed her claws in shadow, Armen felt a cold vacuum pulling at his very core. His breath became shallow, and a dull ache settled behind his eyes.
"Damn it," he gasped, clutching his ribs. "Is this mana? It feels like she's literally pulling the heat out of my blood."
He could feel Lumy's hesitation too. Her movements were becoming sluggish, her strikes lacking the explosive power they had a while ago. The mosquito was experiencing the same exhaustion; its wings were fluttering erratically, and the vibrant red glow in its eyes had dimmed to a muddy rust color. Both beasts were running dry, their supernatural abilities flickering like dying candles. They were down to raw, physical desperation.
The mosquito beast landed heavily on a branch, its legs trembling. It looked at Lumy, then its compound eyes shifted, centering on Armen. In its simple, predatory mind, it saw an opportunity. Lumy was a hard shell filled with dangerous energy, but Armen was soft. Armen was a vessel of fresh, stagnant blood just waiting to be tapped.
The insect let out a frantic, buzzing shriek and launched itself. It didn't go for the salamander. It charged straight toward Armen with a burst of speed that defied its injuries.
"No! Lumy, stop it!" Armen yelled, his eyes widening in terror.
Lumy scrambled to give chase, her claws digging into the earth, but she was too slow. The mosquito was a blur of chitin and translucent wings, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
Armen's old-world instincts kicked in. He didn't have a sword or a beast's hide, but he had the adrenaline of a man who had already died once. As the mosquito's long, serrated needle aimed for his throat, Armen threw himself to the side. The needle whistled past his ear, slamming into the tree trunk behind him with a wet thud.
"Get away from me, you overgrown fucking tick!" Armen scrambled backward, his heart hammering against his teeth.
The mosquito pulled its needle free, spinning around with a clumsy, heavy motion. It was weak, its movements telegraphed by its fatigue. It lunged again, and Armen managed to roll under its spindly legs, the smell of its sour, metallic breath nearly making him gag. But as he tried to stand, one of the mosquito's long, hooked rear legs lashed out. The serrated edge caught Armen's ankle, dragging him back toward the beast's underside.
"Let go!" Armen roared. He felt the cold tip of the proboscis press against his thigh, preparing to pierce through the rugged fabric and sink into his femoral artery.
In a moment of pure, panicked survival, Armen's hand brushed against a patch of loose, dry sand and dirt. He grabbed a handful and flung it with everything he had directly into the mosquito's massive, multifaceted eyes.
The insect let out a distorted, buzzing cry of pain, its head jerking back as the grit jammed into the delicate lenses of its eyes. It was temporarily blinded, thrashing its head wildly. Armen didn't run. He lunged forward, his hands reaching out to grab the one thing that could kill him. He wrapped his fingers around the cold, slick needle of the mosquito beast, holding on with the grip of a drowning man.
The mosquito went into a frenzy, trying to shake him off. It reared up on its back legs, swinging Armen through the air like a ragdoll.
"Lumy! Now!" Armen screamed, his muscles screaming in protest as he was tossed around.
A shadow blurred across the clearing. Lumy didn't just lunge; she launched herself with the last of her strength. Her mouth opened wide, the Light Spikes on her back flickering one last time as she channeled every remaining drop of energy into her jaws. She clamped down on the mosquito's proboscis right above where Armen was holding it.
With a sickening CRUNCH, her luminous teeth sheared through the chitin. The needle snapped like a dry twig.
The mosquito beast let out a shriek of absolute agony that echoed through the entire forest. It collapsed backward, thick, multi-colored fluids spraying from the stump of its face, coating Armen in a warm, foul-smelling soup of stolen blood and bile.
Armen fell to the ground, gasping for air, covered in the gore of a dozen different creatures. He thought it was over. He thought the beast would flee or die.
But the mosquito didn't die.
The loss of its primary feeding organ triggered something deep within its primitive biology. In a horrifying display of biological overclocking, the mosquito's bloated abdomen began to shrink at a visible rate. The liquids inside, the reds, the greens, the purples were all sucked back into its thorax.
"What is it doing?" Armen whispered, horror-struck.
The stump of the needle began to bubble and hiss. With a sound like tearing meat, a new needle, thicker and more jagged than the first, burst forth from the wound, dripping with fresh, steaming gore. The mosquito's body didn't just heal; it started to buff. Its muscles swell beneath its exoskeleton, cracking the outer shell to make room for the sudden growth. Its wings, once translucent, turned a dark, bruised crimson.
The amber glow in its eyes was gone, replaced by a flat, mindless void of crimson light. There was no more intelligence behind the mind of the mosquito, no more tactical hesitation or fear. The pain and the loss of its blood reserves had driven it into a state of pure, unadulterated frenzy.
It let out a sound that wasn't a buzz or a scream, but a roar of vibrating air. It then started to rampage.