The desert was alive with hunger.
Even as Asher crouched in the hollow of the ridge, he could hear the endless clatter of chitin, the insectoid choir gnashing at the edges of his sanity. Every breath through his helmet filters was hot, metallic, stinking of acid and blood.
The Spineguard loomed in the distance, its silhouette burning in the violet haze of the sky. The beast stood like a fortress given life, its obsidian shell gleaming, its cannons pulsing with the hateful glow of bone-fire.
Asher whispered to himself, voice hoarse, words cracked with exhaustion.
"Alright, Veylan… this is it. Big ugly son of a bitch. Tank shell for armor. Cannons that could gut a dropship. And I've got…"
He patted his belt. Two grenades. Then his rifle, the mag still heavy but not bottomless. His sword at his side, ichor dried black along the blade.
"Two grenades. Five mags. Three times agility. Three times endurance. That's all I've got. It's enough. Has to be enough."
He leaned his head against the stone, shutting his eyes, forcing his pulse to steady.
"You've survived worse. No, you haven't. But fuck it, no one else is gonna do this for you."
He peeked over the ridge again.
The swarm below moved like a tide. Chitterspawn shifting in lines, rifles fused to their arms twitching. Gnashlings swarming over rocks like vermin. And towering over them all, the Spineguard, its cannons flexing with sick anticipation.
Asher grinned bitterly inside his helmet.
"Alright. Time to dance."
---
He moved.
The grenades came first. He yanked both pins with one hand, metal rings snapping free, then sprinted forward with inhuman speed. His boots barely touched sand before propelling him into another leap. Three times peak human agility made him a blur, faster than the swarm could track.
He shoved the first grenade into the joint between the Spineguard's front leg and thorax. His momentum carried him up its side, boots scraping along chitin as his hand slapped the second grenade deep into the crack of its shoulder cannon.
"Chew on that!" he roared, and vaulted backward.
The grenades detonated.
The Spineguard's leg burst apart in a gout of ichor and flame, the shockwave cracking its shell. Its cannon belched smoke and shattered bone as the second grenade ripped half the weapon apart. The creature shrieked, a guttural thunder that shook the dunes. It staggered, ichor gushing from the wounds, black rivers spraying the sand.
"Still standing, huh?" Asher spat, rolling to his feet. "Then let's finish it."
The Spineguard lurched, dragging its ruined limb, cannons glowing with murderous fury. Bone javelins screamed through the air, shattering stone around him, exploding dunes into glass.
But Asher was already moving. His body bent, twisted, slipped between death like water through cracks. His feet carried him in wide arcs, circling, every stride impossibly fast. His rifle snapped up, spitting fire. Rounds hammered into the beast's ruined cannon, ichor spraying in bursts.
The monster shrieked, collapsing further, staggering on three legs.
"Not so tough now, huh?" Asher roared, sprinting in, blade flashing. He leapt, faster than the eye could follow, and slammed the sword deep into the exposed joint of its shoulder. He wrenched it sideways, ichor spraying across his visor, then ripped the blade free and hacked again, again, until the chitin split like rotten wood.
The Spineguard groaned, its titanic body swaying.
"This is for every poor bastard you've gutted," he hissed, and with one last roar, drove the blade straight into its eye.
The Spineguard screamed. A death-shriek, loud enough to split the desert sky. Its body spasmed, then collapsed, shaking the ground as its bulk hit the sand.
Silence, just for a heartbeat.
Then the swarm came alive.
---
Chitterspawn shrieked and leveled their living rifles. Bone slugs rattled through the air. Asher ducked low, rolled, came up firing. His rifle barked in bursts, each shot a killing stroke. One Chitterspawn's head burst apart, another's torso shredded into black mist. He moved like lightning, sliding between their lines, cutting them down one by one.
"Come on! COME ON!" he screamed, voice ragged, fury fueling every trigger pull.
One mag emptied, then another. He slapped the reloads in so fast it felt like thought and motion were the same thing. His rifle chattered, each shot precise, efficient. By the time the last round clicked free, the Chitterspawn lay in heaps, their ichor soaking the sand black.
Only Gnashlings remained.
They came as a carpet of teeth and claws, chittering in hunger, swarming over the corpses of their larger kin.
Asher dropped the rifle, drawing his blade. He welcomed them.
He hacked the first in two, ichor splashing across his boots. Another leapt, and he caught it mid-air, slamming it into a rock so hard it burst apart like rotten fruit. He stomped one flat, then spun, cleaving three in a single sweep.
"Come on, you little fuckers!" His voice cracked with manic laughter. "All of you! COME AND DIE!"
Gnashlings swarmed up his legs, their teeth gnashing against his armor. He tore them free with his hands, slamming them against stone until their bodies broke. He ripped another apart barehanded, ichor spraying across his gauntlets. His sword carved arcs of death, splitting swathes of them into twitching pieces.
Minutes passed in a haze of blood and fury. By the time the last Gnashling twitched at his feet, the sand was black and wet, corpses piled in mounds.
Asher stood in the middle, chest heaving, armor dripping with ichor, sword trembling in his grip.
Then silence.
---
He staggered back, collapsed onto a rock, and let his head fall against the stone.
"Holy… fucking… shit." His voice cracked. He laughed weakly. "Spineguard… down. Chitterspawn… gone. Gnashlings… mulch. And me? Still breathing. Still goddamn breathing."
Then---his helmet crackled.
A voice. Calm, cold, official.
"Soldier, situation report."
Asher froze. Then he laughed bitterly. "…You've gotta be kidding me."
The voice repeated. "Situation report. Respond immediately."
He touched the comm, voice dry and ragged.
"Yeah. Situation report. This is Asher Veylan. Still alive. Spineguard neutralized. Nest perimeter cleared. You hear that? I'm still alive."
There was silence on the channel. Then muffled voices, shocked whispers.
"…That's impossible... he is actually still alive"
"He wasn't supposed to survive..."
"He just alone. He---"
The channel steadied again.
"Veylan. Transmit your camera feed."
Asher chuckled. "Sure." He tapped the cam.
The cruiser saw what he saw: a desert painted black with ichor, the corpse of the Spineguard slumped like a mountain of broken armor, Chitterspawn in heaps, Gnashlings strewn like shredded meat.
The silence on the other end was heavier this time.
Finally: "How many magazines do you have left?"
Asher looked at his belt. "Three."
Another silence. Then the voice tried to steady, but it cracked anyway. "…Understood... Proceed as able."
Asher stood, retrieving his pack from where it lay near the ridge. His voice was steel.
"I'm going in."
He slung the rifle, adjusted the straps, and started walking toward the black slit in the earth, the nest itself.
"Tell command," he said, his tone cold and sharp as a blade. "I'm entering the nest."
The comm crackled, voices still whispering disbelief. But Asher had already cut the channel.
The desert wind howled. The horizon burned. And Asher walked on.