Mole Horde

The day had been eerily quiet. Normally, Don would have faced at least one mole every hour, but there had been no sightings in the past five hours. He glanced down at his nearly empty straw bag, containing just a single crystal, and sighed. This was shaping up to be his worst day yet. The lowest he'd ever gone was five crystals in an eight-hour shift. Today, it looked like he'd be lucky to get more than one.

Don shook his head, trying to shake off the frustration. At least he had been able to spend some time cultivating. He could feel himself on the verge of awakening. If he was lucky, he might not even need a second awakening pill to complete his transformation.

He looked along the border and noticed that some of the other guards had switched to their cultivation stances. They sat in the lotus position, practicing their breathing techniques, all while remaining alert for any approaching moles. Despite their focus on cultivation, their ears were finely tuned to the sounds of the desert, ready for any tremors that might signal an attack.

Don was about to return to his own meditation when he felt a slight tremor underfoot. He wasn't the only one. All around him, the other guards opened their eyes, looking around with a mix of confusion and alarm.

Suddenly, the ground seemed to shake, more violently this time. The guards jumped to their feet, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the horizon. 

"IT'S A MOLE HORDE!" someone shouted, pointing towards the horizon.

The cry of "Mole horde!" sent a chill down Don's spine. Memories of stories from the old-timers flooded his mind—stories of entire platoons being wiped out by these relentless waves of beasts. The mole hordes were legendary, known for their sheer numbers and unyielding ferocity. During the expansion into Sector S, an entire battalion had been overrun in minutes when a mole horde emerged from the ground beneath their feet, tearing through armor and flesh with terrifying ease. Veterans still spoke in hushed tones about the devastating siege of H21 through H50, where a mole horde had breached the city walls and annihilated every city in its path, leaving only ruins in its wake. The hordes moved with a terrifying unity, like a single organism bent on destruction, and once they set their sights on a target, there was no escape.

This didn't necessarily mean that a mole horde was impossible to overcome. In fact many times throughout history, there would be sudden outbursts of not just moles but other beasts as well. About 99% of the time hordes were not deadly enough to be a city level threat, and they would always come with the reward of several energy crystals from the amount of beasts in the hordes. But naturally, just your everyday guards would not be able to handle the threat regardless of the level.

In the distance, Don saw them—an army of silhouettes charging toward the border. A massive cloud of dust trailed behind them, making it impossible to count their numbers. The shapes were blurry, distorted by the heat waves rising from the desert sands, but there was no mistaking the sound of the earth trembling beneath the onslaught of so many creatures.

Suddenly all of the moles went underground, Don knew this strategy very well. In order to prevent themselves from getting attacked before they even had the change to fight, they would wait until they were close before attacking, effectively preserving their strength.

It was clear that this was a coordinated attack led by a intelligent mole. 

He quickly calculated the odds. Assuming the patrol guard supervisor were to face off against the mole leader. There were about a hundred guards stationed here, and if the horde numbered in the thousands, each guard would have to face at least ten moles. Don, being pretty strong for the guards, could barely defend against three peak-tier moles at once, the situation was hopeless.

Panic was spreading. Some guards were frantically calling for reinforcements, while others fled toward the safety of the border. The air was thick with tension and fear. Don could see the desperation in their eyes, the silent question: Fight or flee? Live or die?

Despite the fear, Don felt a surge of excitement. This was what he had been waiting for—a real challenge, a chance to test his limits. The thrill of battle coursed through his veins, mingling with the cold fear of death.

But as much as he yearned for excitement, Don wasn't foolish. Charging headlong into a battle they couldn't win was suicidal. He needed a plan.

He looked around and spotted a female guard standing nearby. She was younger than him, her face pale and conflicted. She seemed frozen, caught between the urge to fight and the instinct to flee.

"HEY, COME HERE!" Don shouted, waving her over. His voice barely carried over the noise of the chaos around them.

The girl turned and looked at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. For a moment, she just stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to trust him or not. Then, slowly, she began to jog toward him.

As she approached, Don couldn't help but notice her bright red hair, gleaming like fire in the harsh sunlight. It seemed almost out of place here, in this barren desert. Was it natural, or had she dyed it? Either way, it added to her peculiar appearance.

"I have a plan to deal with this horde," Don said, trying to sound confident. He assumed she was young and frightened, someone who would be easy to persuade.

But the girl just looked at him with a blank expression, her eyes unreadable. There was something strange about her calmness, as if she was unaffected by the chaos around them.

Don turned and began walking toward the border exit, hoping she would follow. He wasn't entirely sure if his plan would work, but he had to try something. And if things went south, he could always put the blame on her. Better that than face the wrath of his superiors.

He glanced back to see if she was following. For a moment, she stood still, staring at his back. Then, without a word, she started to follow him.

Don sprinted towards the border warehouse with the girl trailing behind him. His heart was pounding, but his face was set with a excited expression. As they reached the warehouse, Don didn't waste any time. He pushed open the heavy doors and made his way to the weaponry room.

The girl, looked at him skeptically. "Only officers are allowed inside. You need proper clearance."

Don didn't respond right away. Instead, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to seem nonchalant. With a casual shrug, he stepped up to the locked door and punched in a passcode on the keypad. There was a moment of silence before the door clicked open. He pushed it wide, revealing rows of weapons and explosives.

The girl raised her eyebrows slightly, clearly surprised but still maintaining her calm demeanor. Don flashed her a confident smile, enjoying the chance to show off a little. "My father's a first lieutenant in the military," he explained, his tone trying to be offhand but with a hint of pride. 

Without waiting for her reaction, Don strode inside and grabbed a handful of grenades, stuffing them into his bag. The girl watched him for a moment, then silently followed, her expression unreadable.

-----------------------------

The supervisor felt the ground quake beneath his feet as he stood at the front line, his senses on high alert. The dust from the battlefield filled the air, mingling with the shouts of his soldiers and the guttural growls of the moles. His heart pounded, but his mind was calm and focused. He had been in countless battles before, but this one felt different—more urgent, more desperate.

Years ago, as a young recruit, the supervisor had discovered his unique ability to create slashes in the air with precise movements of his fingers. It was a rare skill, but it was classified as a tier-one ability, the lowest rank in the military's hierarchy of power. Despite its uniqueness, the tier-one classification meant he was overlooked for advanced training and resources. In a world where strength determined one's fate, his ability was seen as a novelty rather than a tool for combat.

Determined not to be defined by his limitations, the young man threw himself into his cultivation, training harder than anyone else in his unit. He knew he would have to work twice as hard to climb the ranks. The path was not easy; he faced ridicule from his peers and skepticism from his superiors. The lack of support from the military made each step of advancement a struggle. For years, he balanced rigorous training with grueling battlefield assignments, gradually honing his skills and refining his abilities through sheer willpower and determination.

After a decade of relentless effort, he reached the mid-stage awakened realm, a milestone many thought impossible for someone with his abilities. This achievement earned him the respect of his comrades and a position as a supervisor at the S55 border patrol department. Despite the odds stacked against him, he had proved that hard work and perseverance could overcome even the greatest of obstacles.

He had did the unexpected many times over, a simple mole horde would not be able to stop him. 

With a fierce look of determination, he surveyed the chaotic scene. Moles, driven by their primal hunger and ferocity, surged forward in waves, threatening to overwhelm the border guards. He knew he had to act quickly to stem the tide. Gritting his teeth, he stepped forward, slicing his hand through the air. A red slash materialized from his fingertip, cleaving through several moles in a single stroke.

He didn't hesitate, spinning on his heel and drawing a circle in the air with his other hand. A circular slash erupted from his gesture, cutting down a ring of moles that had begun to encircle him. He could feel the power coursing through his body, each movement precise and deliberate, each attack calculated to maximize the damage. The moles fell around him, their bodies marked by the deep, clean cuts of his invisible blade.

But even as he fought, a sense of unease crept into his mind. There was something off about this attack. The moles were more aggressive, more organized than usual. It was almost as if they were being driven by something—by someone. He paused for a brief moment, glancing around the battlefield, trying to make sense of it all.

That's when he saw it—a shadow far off in the distance, moving with a slow, deliberate gait. His heart skipped a beat. This was no ordinary mole. It was massive, easily twice the size of the others, its fur darker and its presence far more menacing. He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at the creature. The way it moved, the way the other moles seemed to defer to it, told him everything he needed to know. This was a leader, a commander of sorts, and it was coming straight for them.

A chill ran down the supervisor's spine as he watched the creature approach. He could see the fear spreading among his men, could hear the faltering in their voices as they exchanged uneasy glances. He knew he had to do something, had to keep them focused, had to keep them fighting.

"Hold your ground!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. "Reinforcements are already on their way, stay strong!"

But even as he spoke, he felt the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The massive mole was unlike anything they had ever faced before, and he wasn't sure if they were prepared for what was to come.