The last two still functional beasts moved like sprung traps, low and fast, with their ruined siblings trailing behind them like discarded components. One skittered across the debris on all fours, claws sparking against stone. The other stayed upright just long enough to gain speed before dropping, shoulders rolling, weight forward, as if it had discovered the most efficient way to reach flesh.
Rowan tracked them with the calm of a man who had learned to turn horror into angles.
Two shots.
One beast's knee exploded sideways. It dropped hard, shrieking, but it didn't stop. It crawled, teeth clicking, arms dragging it forward, leaving a wet smear of blood and grey fluid in its wake.
Otto moved without hesitation. He stepped into its path and ended it with a clean, brutal stomp that turned its skull into paste. The sound was wet. The body jerked once. Then it went slack.
The other beast was already past them.
It didn't go for Dax.
It didn't go for Otto.
