Emerald light washed across rusted bulkheads and swirling grit. From the mouth of a crumbling conduit, three figures stepped out in matte-black ceramite bearing Oravan badges. Their tactical visors glinted, reflecting the core’s light. The lead soldier cracked his faceplate, revealing scar tissue across a square jaw and the silver tabs of a Vanguard rank Nithos remembered all too well.
“Well, well,” the sergeant rasped through a vocal filter, a stencil on his chestplate reading JARKAS. “Look what the Rust Tides dragged in. The archive rat, rooting through runoff. Morvan’s orders were explicit: collateral damage. And you’re just begging for it, aren’t you, runt?”
Nithos felt the familiar prickle of irritation. “Is Morvan still sending children to do his dirty work, Jarkas? I’d have thought you’d learned better than to get blood on your pretty uniform.”
Jarkas scowled, teeth grinding behind his teeth. “Bold words for a dust-eater. You stumbled onto something you shouldn’t have. And frankly, we need that core. Consider this a termination with extreme prejudice. And, for good measure…”
Jarkas jerked his chin toward his flank. A scout pulled a sonic emitter from his bandolier. He aimed it at a colossal pile of corroded pipework and mangled scaffolding not twenty meters away. A low, guttural shriek tore through the air, followed by a chorus of chittering. The rusted metal buckled and collapsed under a skittering swarm of bladed vermin.
They were heavily armored subterranean scavengers, bristling with serrated legs and hooked claws that scraped sparks off the deck. Each was the size of a grown man, moving with terrifying speed. Drawn by the acoustic lure, their compound eyes locked onto the black-armored patrol.
[Threat Level: Catastrophic. Approaching Horde: Razor-Fiend Swarm (x18).]
[Devourer Class Bonus: x5 experience multiplier for unique species. Consume for accelerated scaling.]
The squad raised their carbines, capacitors whining as they charged. “Hold the line! Don’t let them flank us!” Jarkas shouted. The lead stalker leaped, its sickle-arms shearing straight through the nearest soldier's energy shield and pitching him into the mud.
Nithos watched the lines break, his pulse settling into an icy beat. “Eighteen… and the core still humming. Quite a haul.”
Rix, who had been patiently gnawing on a discarded cable, let out a delighted trill, its mechanical eye whirring. It understood. This was hunting. This was Nithos’s game.
“Move, idiot!” Jarkas bellowed, emptying a thermal cell into a carapace that merely deflected the bolts. “You’ll be minced!”
Nithos tugged at the frayed collar of his archivist coat and paced forward over the slag. The nearest insectoid turned from its kill to face him. It was a hulking brute, armored in thick, obsidian plating. It shrieked, a sound like grinding metal, and lunged. Its scythe-like claws flashed, aimed for his chest.
Nithos didn't dodge. He simply met the attack. His hands shot out with calculated precision. He grabbed the Fiend’s forelimbs, one in each hand. The creature’s momentum stalled, its razor claws inches from his skin. A surprised shriek escaped it.
With a grunt of pure, unadulterated force, Nithos pulled. The chitinous body of the Razor-Fiend, designed to withstand incredible impact, tore with a sickening rip. A spray of viscous, black ichor erupted as the creature was ripped clean in half, its legs still twitching while its upper torso, head, and slashing forelimbs hung limp in Nithos’s grip. He dropped the two halves to the ground, the sound a wet thud.
[Creature Devoured: Razor-Fiend (Apex Variant).]
[Strength +25. Agility +10. Endurance +15. System Affinity +5.]
[Gastronomic Analysis: New Trait Acquired – ‘Chitin Breaker’ – Your attacks gain a flat +15% damage bonus against armored foes.]
[Tier 1 Progress: 4,321/10,000 biomass consumed.]
The remaining guards froze mid-burst. Jarkas stared at the bifurcated carcass, blood draining from his cheeks. “What… what in the hells was that?”
A smaller scavenger darted from the flank. Nithos met it with an unyielding boot, slamming its ribcage flat against corrugated siding. It crunched, then crumpled, its internal organs rupturing. Before it hit the ground, Nithos grabbed its head, twisted, and tore it clean off. He held the dripping skull aloft for a moment, then tossed it aside.
He snapped a pair of hooked mantles, shattered an abdomen with an elbow strike, and crushed a third skull into pulp against an iron beam. The strike team fared far worse; their heavy volley fire lagged behind the skittering swarm, and claws dragged two more gunners screaming into the shadows.
[Creature Devoured: Razor-Fiend (x6).]
[Strength +150. Agility +60. Endurance +90. System Affinity +30.]
[Tier 1 Progress: 5,612/10,000 biomass consumed.]
Nithos paused amidst the wreckage. Heat thrummed beneath his ribcage, but the exertion pulled hard against his unrefined reserves.
He crouched by the largest carcass and tore a thick slab of dark muscle free from the carapace. From the burning wreckage of a destroyed data conduit, still sparking with residual energy, Nithos calmly held the prime cut over the flames. The meat sizzled, the aroma, surprisingly savory amidst the stench of ozone and viscera, filling the air. Rix chittered excitedly, its tail wagging like a broken spring, eager for a taste.
“Don’t lose focus, sergeant,” Nithos called out between chews. “Waste meat has decent mineral density.”
Jarkas stared as Nithos stripped grease from his fingers while a green pulse of recovered stamina knit the bruised flesh on the archivist's knuckles. It defied every parameter the Genesis System enforced on non-combatants.
Jarkas glanced toward the green glare of the core, then charged Nithos. A thermal bayonet snapped into life along his rifle's barrel, hissing as he lunged straight for Nithos’s spine.
Nithos felt the heat signature wash over the nape of his neck. He didn’t even turn his head. His left hand shot back, catching the sergeant's armored gauntlet mid-thrust. The burning tip halted an inch from his jacket.
Jarkas yanked back, but found no give. Nithos tightened his fingers until ceramic shattered against bone. With a muffled pop, the wrist snapped inward, and the thermal weapon clattered into the dirt.
Nithos turned around. The surviving stalkers scuttled back into the sewer grates, leaving a field of Oravan bodies and severed limbs. In the sudden quiet, only Rix’s ticking gears and Jarkas’s ragged breathing broke the hush.
“Morvan wants me dead, does he?” Nithos mused, his voice dangerously soft. “And you, his loyal lapdog, thought to claim the credit. How quaint.”
Nithos hoisted him by the breastplate over an open exhaust trench that fell three thousand meters into the underbelly. Draft air roared upward, stinking of engine oil and stagnant sewage, whipping Jarkas's dangling boots.
“Now,” Nithos murmured, “the dilemma. Drop you, and invite Morvan's hounds into my stacks before I'm ready. Or send you back broken, proof of what a supposed scholar can tear apart with bare hands.”