In the workshop's control room, a massive light screen was divided into several real-time monitoring windows.
On the main screen, the war between the Crystal Shell Giant Scorpions and the Dream-Weaving Demon Spiders had reached a fever pitch.
A black torrent of carapaces clashed madly with a translucent swarm of spiders. Corrosive venom, severed limbs, and shattered shells filled the air.
This bloody, chaotic scene was reflected in Allen's deep blue eyes as a series of pulsing data streams.
"Jarvis, casualty ratio."
"Reporting, Commander. Six hours into the battle, the Crystal Shell Giant Scorpion population has lost nine adults and thirty-seven young. The Dream-Weaving Demon Spider population has lost twelve adults."
"Both sides are out for blood."
This was a primitive brawl with no tactics to speak of, a pure release of hatred and instinct.
But it was precisely this chaos that bought him the most precious commodity: time.
