Chapter 4: Aggressive scorpion

Each drop of crystalline water, like a flawless gem, cascaded from the inky sky, the downpour intensifying with every passing moment.

"Rain? The Armored Ones' territory has always been frigid. Why this sudden deluge?" Killer mused, perched high in the ancient tree. "Could it be caused by that brat's flames? But wait..."

He watched, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Remarkable. The rain is torrential, yet the fire not only persists but burns even brighter." A grudging respect bloomed in his thoughts. "That brat possesses unexpected talent." Killer hesitated, his earlier confidence shaken, delaying his attack on Drakon.

"Rumble..."

A jagged bolt of lightning ripped across the parched sky, momentarily illuminating the vast, inky expanse.

"Drakon! Are you going to use *that*? Is he really that powerful?" Blackfang hissed urgently to his comrade, his gaze fixed on the mystical runes Drakon had etched into the sky. Nine celestial thunders crackled around them, the wind a howling gale, the clouds swirling in a furious maelstrom.

"He is strong, yes, but the forces behind him are far greater. I don't fully understand them yet; caution is paramount," Drakon replied, his voice low and grave.

"Understood. I'll hold him off," Blackfang replied, his expression mirroring Drakon's gravity. His fighting spirit ignited, he focused intently on Killer, studying his every move.

Lightning illuminated the scene in blinding flashes, the hidden flames casting an eerie, flickering glow.

"Hey, Killer!" Blackfang roared, his voice booming across the battlefield. "Or should I call you 'walking iron'? That suit of armor... you must be sweating in that thing!" His words were a calculated distraction, buying Drakon precious time to complete his ritual.

"A scrawny black cat, nothing but oversized claws!" Killer roared, his rage fueled by Blackfang's taunts.

"Blackfang! He's too strong for you. Focus solely on defense; avoid all offensive maneuvers. I'll channel protective energy into your claws—it'll be far more effective that way," Drakon cautioned, his gaze still locked on his ritual.

"Understood," Blackfang replied, bracing himself.

"U... U... U..."

A chilling, guttural rumble echoed from the depths below, a sound of immense power and foreboding.

"What's so alarming about Iron Serpent?" Killer growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his armored chest. The name itself felt like a physical threat.

"I sense a powerful energy nearby, though heavily suppressed. It's... unsettling. I can still feel its presence, a cold dread clinging to the edges of my perception," Iron Serpent replied, his voice a private whisper, barely audible even to Killer. A tremor ran through the usually stoic construct.

"Understood, Iron Serpent. I'll dispatch these two nuisances quickly, then report to the Demon King," Killer said, his chilling confidence a thin veneer barely masking a prickle of unease. The unease wasn't from Iron Serpent's warning, but from the subtle shift in the air, a change only he could sense. The suppressed power was far greater than he initially thought.

From all sides, a darkness erupted from the earth, the flickering flames and lightning briefly illuminating a horrifying spectacle: a legion of scorpions, countless in number, their chitinous bodies clicking and scraping like a thousand grinding stones. They surged forward, a wave of segmented horror that engulfed Drakon and Blackfang in a suffocating tide of chittering limbs and venomous stingers. The air itself throbbed with their collective malice, a palpable sense of predatory hunger that chilled to the bone. The ground trembled under the weight of their advance.

Observing the grim situation, Blackfang hissed a desperate prayer to Drakon, "Damn it, we've stumbled into their nest! And it's far, far larger than I ever imagined." His voice was barely audible above the cacophony of chittering exoskeletons.

Drakon's gaze swept across the seemingly endless horde, his face grim. "With this swarm," he replied, his voice tight with grim determination, "three days and three nights of fighting wouldn't even begin to scratch the surface. We need to find another way." His eyes, however, held a spark of something else – not fear, but a cold, calculating assessment of the situation, a plan already forming in his mind.

"Forget Killer for now; it seems my heroic sacrifice will be necessary to buy us the time to complete this spell," Blackfang declared, his usual garrulousness replaced by a grim, almost desperate determination. A flicker of something akin to bravado briefly shone in his eyes, quickly extinguished by the sheer scale of the approaching threat.

"Enough with the melodrama, Blackfang," Drakon cut him off sharply, his voice tight with urgency. "Burn. And burn *bright*."

The flames erupted with renewed, ferocious intensity, defying not only the torrential rain but also the encroaching darkness. The advancing scorpions were met with a wall of searing fire, a fiery barrier that momentarily held back the venomous tide, buying them precious seconds in the face of overwhelming odds. The air crackled with the heat and the desperate energy of their struggle.

"So you control these venomous insects, Killer? Then I shall transform them into a delectable feast," Drakon declared, his jaw tight, eyes blazing with righteous fury. Eight incandescent rivers of Sunfire Drake energy, each thicker than a man's torso, continued to sear the air, the heat radiating outwards in shimmering waves that distorted the very landscape. The air crackled with raw power, the scent of ozone sharp in his nostrils. Drakon's words, imbued with the same unwavering resolve as the flames, channeled the chaotic energy into a focused, devastating display. The flames writhed and pulsed, a living, breathing entity, before erupting outwards in a coordinated, breathtaking dance of destruction. They engulfed the mass of scorpions, trapped within the earlier wall of fire, a writhing, venomous tide now consumed by a far more potent, cleansing fire. The creatures, their chitinous armor momentarily gleaming before being reduced to ash, were granted no respite, no opportunity to unleash their deadly stings. Their agonizing demise was swift, silent, and utterly complete, a testament to Drakon's unwavering justice.

"Hissing... hissing... a symphony of menace, a venomous tide rising to engulf all." The ground writhed with a multitude of scorpions, a terrifying kaleidoscope of colors and sizes—tiny, obsidian pincers next to monstrous, crimson claws—their numbers seemingly endless. The air itself vibrated with the frantic scuttling of countless legs, a palpable sense of dread emanating from the writhing mass. Engulfed by the searing Eightfold Sunfire, the scorpions' individual shrieks were swallowed by the immensity of their collective agony, a horrifying cacophony that briefly clawed at the silence of the battlefield before being utterly consumed by the cleansing flames. The stench of burning chitin and venom briefly filled the air, a grim testament to the overwhelming power of Drakon's righteous fury, before dissipating on the wind.

The relentless assault was unnerving. A horrifying pyre of incinerated scorpions marked the ground, yet the moment one wave was consumed by the Eightfold Sunfire, another surged forward, a seemingly endless tide of kitin and venom relentlessly pushing through the blazing inferno. The air itself crackled with the energy of the conflict, a maelstrom of heat, rain, and the desperate, chittering cries of the insects. Despite the driving rain, lashing against their armored bodies, and the howling wind attempting to buffet them aside, the scorpions pressed their attack, their multifaceted eyes gleaming with unwavering malice, fixed on Drakon and Blackfang. Each scorpion was a miniature engine of destruction, oversized claws slashing in a deadly, coordinated dance, venomous tails arched high, barbs poised to strike with lethal precision. Their advance was an unstoppable wave of death, a testament to their terrifying resilience and unwavering hunger.

The air hung thick with the stench of burning chitin and venom, a grim testament to the carnage. Despite the wall of fire and the relentless Eightfold Sunfire, a seemingly inexhaustible tide of venomous scorpions swarmed, their advance a horrifying spectacle of relentless death. They seemed to regenerate, or perhaps were a single, monstrous entity with countless heads, each a venomous threat. The more Drakon and Blackfang destroyed, the more ferocious the remaining scorpions became, their attacks growing more frenzied, their advance more relentless, a terrifying demonstration of their collective will.

Killer's laughter echoed across the battlefield, a cruel counterpoint to the desperate struggle. "Keep killing them until you collapse from exhaustion," he taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "When your strength fails, this army will tear you apart. You cannot win."