The shardlings lunged and swiped, their metallic claws raking against weapons, but it was more like a show than a serious threat.
Giants and beastmen leisurely reacted — parrying with minimal effort, faking counterattacks, or simply stepping aside with casual indifference.
If they inflicted real pain, the shardlings would adapt, learning from the blow, and evolving in the process.
For now, they were just setting up for something bigger.
Cain's lingered to their action, their hands a blur of practiced efficiency.
Three had already been brought down, their cores carefully extracted by the rat beastmen.
They moved with surprising delicacy, nimble fingers prying apart metallic shells to reveal the prize nestled within.
Cores, each barely the size of a palm — spectrums of light danced within their crystalline forms, refracting like shards of stained glass.
Cain's eyes narrowed, evaluating the quality of the harvest.
He remembered the Syndicate's lists — cores like these fetched anywhere from a gold to a gold and fifty silvers apiece.
He didn't have long to admire them. The giants began to move, heavy feet stomping in unison.
Their steps were rhythmic and deliberate — a patterned stomp that sent tremors through the ground.
Cain's observed carefully, he'd read about this before.
Primitive, but effective — it was an old detection technique, a dance meant to echo vibrations through the earth, mapping out whatever lay hidden both above and below.
Ragta's eyes sharpened, his gaze locked onto the terrain with newfound clarity.
Ragta's massive hand rose into the air, fingers splayed wide.
Instantly, Midi, Dilim, and the other giant halted mid-step, their movements freezing with soldier-like discipline.
With a gesture, Ragta raised four fingers and pointed west.
His hand shifted, three fingers stretched toward the north, then another gesture to the east — three more.
His commands were silent but unmistakable.
The wolves tensed, ready to spring towards the distant targets, but Ragta shook his head, his expression stern.
"Too far."
Cain watched the exchange, curiosity biting at him. Ragta wasn't just calling giving out commands — he was also creating back-ups.
Those distant shardlings weren't just targets — they were pieces on the board, held in reserve.
If the golemite didn't form, they would still be there — like a spare tire in case of emergency.
Ragta gave a curt nod to Midi and Dilim.
Cain discreetly but alertly darted his gaze around as he caught their subtle exchange, his instincts flaring.
'Paranoia? Maybe. But what if the next small gesture is a signal for my execution?'
Midi moved first, his massive frame deceptively swift as he barreled toward the nearest structure, his footfalls pounding the ground like rolling thunder.
Cain's hearing sharpened as he heard Midi flick his sword with his nails in a deliberate motions.
The blade rang out, a metallic chime that hummed lightly through the air.
Cain didn't hesitate. His pistols were out in an instant, channeling out three quick shots — Sharpness, Swiftness, and Dexterous Hands.
The enchantments flared along the blade's edge, illuminating it with a ghostly sheen.
Midi stopped for a fraction of a second, eyes wide with surprise.
He rotated his wrist experimentally, the massive sword seeming to flow with his movements, lighter, faster.
His grin stretched wider, jagged and wild, satisfied with the brief improvement.
He'd had dexterous hands before, but their mobility had never suited his heavy-swing style.
Now, though, it felt just right.
Prana crackled and coiled along Midi's blade, the aura flaring bright and hot — his stance shifted, legs rooted like pillars as the energy built around him.
Cain watched as Midi's grip tightened, the prana pulsing brighter — growing, compressing, waiting to be unleashed.
And then, with a mighty swing, the blade cleaved through the air, sending a shockwave of fire roaring forward.
The flames streaked like living serpents, weaving and writhing until they crashed into the decrepit building ahead.
Heat resistant vines ignited instantly, curling to ash as flames licked up the concrete walls.
Segments of the structure, already fractured and weathered by time, crumbled under the sudden burst of heat.
Whole slabs of concrete slid away, splitting from the skeleton of the building and crashing to the earth in a plume of dust and splintered stone.
Not to be outdone, Dilim stepped forward, his blade singing with sharp, resonating hums as he mirrored Midi's earlier gesture to call for enhancements.
Cain's fingers moved swiftly, pistols snapping up to send out streaks of boost to his temporary ally.
Dilim raised his sword to the sky, the blade gleaming with a frostbitten sheen as crystalline shards of ice spiraled around its edge.
He murmured words in a tongue Cain didn't recognize, breath misting in the air as the temperature plummeted around him.
His muscles flexed, mana coursing through his veins, and with a shout that seemed to crystallize the very air, he swung the blade in two sweeping arcs.
The first slash cleaved through the building's lower supports — not with raw impact, but with an eruption of ice.
Frost spread from the point of contact, creeping up the cracked concrete like spiderwebs.
Stone and steel were encased in jagged icicles, freezing solid before shattering with the weight of its own structure.
The second strike was even more dramatic. Ice lanced out in sharp crescents, slicing through the building's center.
Segments of concrete and steel were flash-frozen, cracking and splintering as the frigid prana wormed its way into every crevice.
Dust and frost billowed, swallowing the ruins in a choking haze.
But there was no time to admire the destruction.
shardlings skittered forward from the shadows, limbs snapping and claws raking against the earth.
Ragta's grin turned sharp and wolfish as he swung his scourge. The vampiric barbs latched onto nine Shardlings at once, ripping through metal plating with brutal efficiency.
Limbs were yanked free, torn clean from their frames, while others hung shattered and crippled — sparking and twitching in the wake of his assault.
Sparks flew as legs were severed, the crippled constructs limping westward, stuttering in their retreat.
'These hidden ones are a bit bigger. I wonder if that's how higher-quality cores are made? Too bad there wasn't more information.'
The rhino beastman bellowed, his voice rumbling like with a stern warning.
"Brace for Howling Shockwave!'"
A roar erupted his tower shields — clanging together with a thunderous crash.
The sound was deafening — so much so that Cain felt a tremor in his skull, like his brain rattling against the bone.
His magicules flared instinctively, damping the worst of it, but the shardlings weren't as fortunate.
Their crystal eyes jittered wildly in their sockets, vibrating from the blast of sound, their softer parts shook violently as if the noise was tearing them apart from the inside.
Cain steadied his breath, eyes scanning the field.
'Nine shardlings still remained, scattered to the east and west.'
His fingers flexed around the grip of his pistol. The real battle is about to begin.