Hope's eyes snapped open just in time to see a blur of motion. A carapace scavenger—faster than he's reflexes, sharper than malice—lunged for him with both claws poised to rip him apart.
Instinct screamed louder than thought.
He pivoted hard to the left, narrowly avoiding the full brunt of the strike. Its claws sliced through empty air, a razor-thin miss. Hope retaliated instantly, lashing out with a precise diagonal slash aimed at the scavenger's exposed side. The blade connected with a satisfying crunch—but not deep enough. The scavenger shrieked in pain, but didn't fall. Instead, it reeled back and hissed, armor glinting under the scorching sun.
Hope's lungs burned. He barely managed to suck in air before three more emerged from the pack, surrounding him like vultures.
"Shit—!" he hissed, pushing off with every ounce of strength in his legs, launching himself backward to gain space.
But they were faster.
They darted after him with terrifying coordination, their claws slicing at the wind. He tried to pivot, to reposition, but—
Bang!
A sledgehammer force slammed into his back. A fourth scavenger had flanked him without warning, crashing into him with bone-breaking momentum.
He was airborne for a heartbeat—long enough to feel the sickening spin of helplessness—before he slammed into the ground like a thrown doll. Dust exploded from beneath him. His body rolled violently, armor scraping, ribs rattling. Pain lanced through his spine. His armor had held, yes—but barely. Cracks spiderwebbed across its black surface. His bones felt like shattered glass held together by threads.
He groaned, but there was no time to process the pain.
Darkness loomed.
Claws raked down.
Hope threw himself into a frantic roll just as another scavenger swiped where his head had been a second ago. The strike gouged the earth instead, sending rocks flying.
Scrambling upright, Hope lifted his sword just in time to block another overhead slash. The sheer force sent him skidding backward, boots dragging against the cracked earth. His hands were shaking, arms numb from the impact. Sparks flew as carapace claws clashed with his blade again, again, again.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Every angle was covered. He was surrounded.
He tried to dive into darkness—his trump card, his escape route—but it failed. Again.
The sun was too high. Too bright. Its cruel light burned the edges of his power, making darkness crawl inward, flinch like a wounded animal. Even worse, every time he reached for the scavengers' shadows, the shadows rejected him similar to what happened back in his room back at the hospital. Why? He didn't know. He didn't care right now—he just needed to live.
But the power refused him.
He was alone.
"COME ON!" he roared in panic and fury as he slashed blindly, catching one scavenger across the mandibles, forcing it back. Another dove in from behind—he turned barely in time, raising his sword and catching the blow with the flat edge. The impact jarred his whole body, twisting his wrist and nearly sending the weapon flying.
Then another hit.
And another.
It was never-ending. A hellish dance of blood and steel, with Hope always on the back foot. Always one breath away from being torn apart.
He ducked under a claw, rolled, parried—barely—another. His chest was heaving. The sun's heat was baking him inside his armor. Sweat blinded his left eye. His grip was weakening, muscles screaming in protest.
A slash caught him across the thigh—his armor sparked, holding—but he stumbled. Another slammed into his shoulder, sending him sprawling again.
His sword clattered beside him, just out of reach.
Hope gasped, vision blurring.
He raised a trembling hand to block as one scavenger leapt toward him, jaws wide, claws descending in a killing arc—