The battlefield was cloaked in dust and silence.
Isaac stood at its center. Hands raised. Voice calm.
Thousands of locusts hovered around him shifting, reshaping, not to kill blindly, but to control. This wasn't chaos. This was a command.
Every motion was intentional. Every pattern is a strategy.
Formation. Tactics. Timed aggression. Energy preservation. Sacrifice rotations.
These were not just combat commands.
They were inherited protocols, techniques passed through blood, memory, and instinct.
Isaac's eyes opened slowly.
His swarm hovered, motionless, awaiting orders.
He spoke.
"Let's try something new."
"First group. Defensive wall. Triangle shield."
Hundreds of locusts snapped into formation midair, arranging themselves into a reinforced triangular barrier. The enemy blast struck, but the formation held.
"Second group. Feint rotation. Two-second delay. Strike left flank."
