Apart from Zyon and the others tearing through their prey, close enough yet separated by dunes and distance, Leon's group prowled the wastes.
They moved in a loose formation, not too close, not too far. Each step was measured, their gazes sharp, senses stretched to the limit. The Deathland was not forgiving, ambush could come from beneath the sand or above the horizon, and not one of them dared to relax.
The atmosphere was… decent. Simply quiet. They didn't waste words. Silence weighed between them, broken only by the crunch of boots on sand and the occasional hiss of shifting grit.
"Targets ahead," Leon finally broke the silence, his tone firm, steady. He slowed, turned his head just enough to meet their eyes. "Everyone stay close. I'll handle the front line. You wait, and finish them off once I'm done."
His hand lifted, finger pointing outward. Two hundred meters ahead, half-buried in sand and creeping along with eerie synchronization, a cluster of Dissect Scorpions roamed.
