The Crows stumbled back into the perimeter of the Vanguard post, their breath coming in ragged hitches. To the guards on the wall, they looked like broken men fleeing for their lives.
"Commander! Sir!" Talin roared, his voice cracking with urgency. He didn't wait for permission; he ran straight toward the command tent. In his mind, Elian's plan was a desperate stalling tactic. No slave unit can kill that thing, he thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. Only the higher-ups have what it takes to survive.
While Talin played the role of the frantic messenger, Elian caught Baraq's shoulder and signaled toward a jagged ridge of obsidian slate overlooking the fog-line.
"High ground. Now," Elian commanded.
As they reached the ledge, Elian turned his gaze toward the swirling violet mist where Horgan's squad had disappeared.
[Authority: Insight – Activated]
He again limited the usage to 1 minute
Beside him, Baraq and Kaelen froze. From their perspective, the transformation was haunting. The frozen, clouded blue of Elian's eyes suddenly ignited. The silver static didn't just flicker; it swirled into a violent, metallic whirlpool. For a brief moment, the "charcoal" dullness vanished, replaced by a gaze so sharp and predatory it felt as though Elian was looking through the very fabric of the world.
It's not just a beast, Elian thought. It's a manifestation of the Lawless Zone's rot. Its left flank is heavy with acid-sacks. If they hit the right side, they'll trigger a volatile discharge.
Below them, the "Real Vanguard" had made contact.
Horgan was in his element. "Form a phalanx!" he bellowed. "It's just a big pig! Surround it and bleed it dry!"
The fight was a symphony of clashing metal and guttural roars. Horgan's men moved with practiced discipline, their spears biting into the Chimera-Warg's bone-plating. But the beast wasn't dying. It was playing. Suddenly, the creature's throat swelled, glowing with a sickly, toxic green light. It didn't lunge; it exhaled.
A torrent of viscous, hissing acid sprayed across the front line. Horgan's face contorted— with anger. Elian's face came to his and he didn't like the feeling of being used but suddenly a thought crossed his mind bringing a terrifying, twisted greed. A Tier 3, he thought, the potential promotion blinding him to the smell of melting flesh. If I bring that back, I'm no longer just a slave. I can become the head of slaves.
"Stay the line!" Horgan screamed as his men began to waver. "Anyone who retreats gets reported for cowardice! The Knight-Commander will have your heads! We can handle this!"
His words were cut short by a sound like a hot iron hitting water. One of his veteran shield-bearers raised a reinforced iron tower-shield to block an incoming glob of acid. In seconds, the metal began to hiss and bubble. The soldier didn't even have time to scream before the acid ate through the shield, his gauntlets, and finally his chest, collapsing the man into a puddle of blackened sludge.
Panic, sharp and absolute, shattered the Vanguard's discipline. The "Real Unit" turned and fled, but the Chimera-Warg was faster. It blurred through the fog, its chameleonic fur making it a ghost of teeth and acid. One by one, Horgan's men were snatched into the mist, their cries ending in wet, crunching silence.
Back at the Vanguard post, the Knight-Commander had emerged. His presence was like a mountain of cold iron.
"Form up!" the Commander roared, his voice carrying the weight of a Tier 4 combatant. "Archers to the ramparts! Slayers to the front! If a single foot moves backward, I will execute you where you stand!"
The air grew heavy as guards and slaves alike scrambled into a desperate defensive line. Just then, few figures burst from the fog—Horgan and the remains of his squad, their armor smoking, their faces masks of pure terror.
Horgan saw the Knight-Commander and felt a surge of hysterical relief. I'm safe. I'll tell him the boy lied. I'll watch the brat hang for this—
Horgan ran toward the line, his eyes fixed on safety. But as he passed the obsidian ridge, the world suddenly tilted. He felt strangely light. The sky and the mud swapped places in a sickening whirl.
As his head hit the dirt, Horgan's vision settled on a pair of Frozen Blue eyes looking down at him from the ridge. Elian was smiling—a dark, razor-sharp expression of pure satisfaction.
Horgan tried to speak, to curse him, but he realized his lungs were no longer attached to his throat. His lower half remained ten feet back, shredded by a single, invisible swipe of the beast that had followed his scent.