Chapter 671 The Ravine (5)
Another surge of Xeridon Anteris suddenly erupted from the side tunnels, causing Erik's eyes to narrow instinctively as he observed their snapping mandibles and the captivating shimmer of their exoskeletons in the dim light. He grabbed the communication device, punching in the frequency of Kael's vehicle.
"Something's off, Kael." Erik's voice held an edge, a ripple of concern. "Xeridon Anteris, they don't gather like this. It's too large."
Kael's voice crackled through the speaker, tinged with the stress of managing the convoy's defenses. "What do you mean, Erik?"
"Colonies merging," Erik said, eyes fixed on the teeming mass. "Only a grave threat unites Xeridon Anteris like this. A Thaid, perhaps, compelling unity." His laser rifle discharged, downing a Xeridon Anteris mid-scutter.
A pause filled the airwaves, heavy with the weight of Erik's words. Finally, Kael responded, "That would mean—"
"They're starving, Kael," Erik cut in, his voice grim. "They've probably exhausted all the local fauna to sustain this new, massive colony. That's why they're attacking us so relentlessly. We're not just intruders; we're probably the last thing they have seen running around."
The realization sent a chill down Kael's spine. "What do we do?"
"We keep moving, and we keep fighting," Erik said, his tone resolute. "But be prepared for anything. If there's a Thaid powerful enough to cause this kind of behavior, then we need to be ready for when we encounter it."
Erik's gaze wandered as he contemplated the time it would take for them to flee from that place. "How much further until we're out of this ravine?"
Kael's voice came through, tinged with urgency but remarkably composed. "We've got about three kilometers left, Erik. At our current speed, that should take us around ten minutes."
"Ten minutes," Erik repeated, the weight of that time frame settling in. Ten minutes could feel like an eternity in a situation like this, with each second stretched taut over the frame of life and death.
"Exactly. We just need to hold out for ten more minutes," Kael said.
As Erik gazed upon the swarm of Xeridon Anteris, he couldn't help but notice that their numbers showed no signs of diminishing, despite the assault from the convoy. Ten minutes. They would have to make every second count.
"Alright, Kael. Keep everyone focused and tell them to conserve their ammunition. We need to make it last until we're clear of this hellhole," Erik instructed.
Kael's voice came back, steadier now, fortified by Erik's resolve. "Understood. I'll relay the information to the rest of the convoy."
With a deliberate motion, Erik carefully set the communication device aside, his eyes narrowing and his expression growing resolute as he focused on what lay ahead. Ten minutes. They would either find salvation or damnation, and Erik was determined to lead them toward the former.
Erik's hand, steady and sure, coaxed the Flyssa from its scabbard, the blade's song resonating through the tense air, a sharp contrast to the surrounding chaos.
He vaulted from the vehicle, his armored silhouette casting a fleeting shadow over the cracked, desolate ground below.
The driver's eyes grew wide, mirroring the harsh landscape, his incredulous gaze reflecting the stark madness of Erik's audacious descent.
Erik landed, boots sending a puff of dust skyward, his focus laser-sharp on the encroaching danger. No room in his mind for the driver's silent astonishment.
Erik surged forward, boots etching a warrior's path up the ravine's jagged wall, an eagle in ascent.
His silhouette, a stark contrast against the cliff, moved with the fluidity of a shadow in twilight.
The Flyssa cut the air, a streak of silver doom, each swing a silent verdict for the encroaching Xeridon Anteris.
Their armored carapaces yielded like clay before the potter's knife, succumbing to the relentless song of his blade.
They plunged in succession, hollow husks descending like marionettes with severed strings.
Below, convoy members halted mid-action, gazes locked on Erik. Words found themselves prisoners in their throats as they witnessed the ballet of destruction, their leader a tempest incarnate.
Eyes wide, the convoy members beheld the unfolding spectacle. Erik, embodying the grace of a panther, navigated the convoy's maze. His movements, a choreographed symphony of purpose and speed, carved a path through the chaos—every gesture a deliberate stroke on the canvas of battle.
He glided among the enemy, a grim ballet master, his blade a silent partner in the deadly dance.
The Xeridon Anteris wilted like winter wheat under a reaper's sickle.
Their numbers, once a formidable tide, ebbed swiftly, each moment claiming more of their throng under his relentless steel.
[MULTIPLE XERIDON ANTERIS KILLED: MANA ABSORBING PROCESS STARTING.]
[0%...1%....5%...30%...70%...100%]
[MANA SUCCESSFULLY ABSORBED, STARTING CONVERTING PROCEDURE.]
[3...2...1...0]
[MANA SUCCESSFULLY CONVERTED INTO EXPERIENCE. 0 EXPERIENCE POINTS AWARDED TO THE HOST.]
As Erik wove his deadly tapestry, a question whispered through the minds of the onlookers: How did such a young man come to wield such ancient power?
At seventeen, how did Erik already loom so large, outclassing warriors with decades on him? What kind of relentless grind had honed his raw talent to such a razor's edge?
He walked among them, a living storm of shock and awe—was it just innate skill, or had some hardcore mentor pushed him beyond the limits? Where had this kid tapped into that kind of power?
Yet, for all the silent praise cast his way, Erik remained an island amid the sea of admiration; his focus was an unyielding fortress, his blade a relentless river carving its path through the stone of his foes.
Erik grasped the urgency of each fleeting moment, the imperative to breach the ravine's shadow before the horde could claim them. He fought with a ferocity that turned his Flyssa into a tempest wrought from steel, each arc and thrust dismissing pleas for clemency.
Then, from the abyss of the ravine, surged a new threat. Not a mere band, but a legion of Xeridon Anteris, numbering close to two hundred, emerged. Their exoskeletons caught the dim light, refracting it into an ominous shimmer that danced across the jagged walls of their earthen fortress.
The creatures moved as one, a single entity with a hive mind set on destruction. Each step they took caused the ground to tremble, the sound of their approach a drumbeat heralding doom. Their mandibles clicked in a sinister symphony, while their claws, sharp as the shards of night, promised a swift end.
Erik stood his ground, the lone bulwark against the encroaching tide. His blade sang a song of defiance, its edge kissing the air with deadly precision. Each swing cleaved through carapace and sinew, each strike a sentence of death for the alien forms that dared advance.
The air filled with the copper tang of ichor and the cries of the fallen Anteris. Their glow dimmed upon death, lights snuffed out in an instant, only to be replaced by another as the swarm pressed forward.
Above, the sky bore witness to a tapestry of twilight blues and purples, indifferent to the plight below. High in the sky, the sun cast long shadows that reached out like spectral fingers, perhaps to grasp at the life that teetered on the brink of destruction.
And in that moment, Erik was more than a warrior; he was the embodiment of resolve.
Erik felt the air crackle with the surge of energy that the Xeridon Anteris exuded, a tangible aura that signaled their mana-infused strength surged. With each pulse, their bodies grew more formidable, muscles bulging and movements becoming blurs of lethal precision.
The swarm started their assault with a terrifying synchronicity. Erik, scaling the wall with the grace of a seasoned climber, watched as the horde converged on his position.
They ascended with ease, their claws finding purchase in the smallest of crevices, turning the sheer rock face into a ladder of flesh and chitin.
Their advance was relentless. Claws scraped against stone, sending shards skittering down into the abyss below.
The Anteris moved with unnatural agility, their bodies coiling and uncoiling, propelling them upward in a relentless pursuit of their prey.
The Xeridon Anteris displayed a cunning tactical acumen, systematically demolishing potential footholds to trap Erik in a vertical maze with no escape. Simultaneously, a contingent of the swarm sped up their advance, mandibles crashing with the force of bear traps, each motion a calculated strike of ruthless efficiency.
Their actions were not random; they were the maneuvers of a highly intelligent adversary, coordinating their attack to outmaneuver and outwit their prey.
Erik's focus tightened as the situation ramped up. The spots he'd normally hit were now crawling with enemies, and his wiggle room was closing fast. But he couldn't just drop; he was the shield for a whole convoy, with lives hanging on his next move.
He hit the gas, launching off his shrinking safe zone, cutting through the air with the finesse of a pro skater hitting a half-pipe.
On his way down, he turned into a one-man wrecking crew. His blade moved with him, parting the air in a clean swipe that mowed down a line of Xeridon Anteris. It was one smooth, practiced move—no hesitation, all action—like a perfectly timed combo move in a high-stakes video game.
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