The muffled roar of the wind was punctuated by the crunch of boots against sand. The silhouette of the cloaked figure steadily advanced toward Chester and Clara, still clutching the severed head of one of the Scourge Stalkers. The sandstorm obscured most details, leaving only the faint outlines of the figure's movements visible.
"Identify yourself!" Chester barked, his voice cutting through the gusts. He raised his rifle, training the sights on the figure's chest. Beside him, Clara followed suit, her hands steady but her grip tight.
The figure stopped roughly three feet from the wreckage, the severed head swinging loosely from one hand. Slowly, they raised their other hand and gestured downward with two fingers in a motion that was deliberate but cryptic.
"What the hell does that mean?" Chester muttered, squinting through his scope to try and interpret the gesture.
Before he could think further, Clara suddenly grabbed him by the back of his uniform and yanked him down.
"What the hell, Clara?!" Chester hissed, his voice filled with irritation.
But before she could respond, something massive streaked overhead, stirring up a whirlwind of sand and leaving a faint metallic glint in its wake. The ground shook violently as a loud crash resounded a few feet from their position, sending ripples through the desert floor.
"That's why," Clara shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Chester peeked out from under the vehicle, his breath catching as he spotted the hulking outline of a new threat emerging from the storm.
…..
It was a monstrosity—easily twenty feet tall. Its grotesque frame was a tangled mass of pulsating flesh and jagged bones, as if its body couldn't decide on a shape. Its arms were unnaturally elongated, ending in massive claws that glimmered faintly with a metallic sheen. The creature's head was misshapen, with two lidless, bulging eyes that glowed faintly yellow. Its mouth stretched impossibly wide, filled with rows of crooked, serrated teeth that clattered together like metal grinding against bone. Across its hunched back were bony protrusions resembling jagged spikes, some of which twitched and oozed a black, tar-like substance.
Gripped in its massive claw was a weapon unlike anything Chester had seen. It was an amalgamation of rusted iron and bone—a colossal, jagged blade that seemed to hum faintly with malevolent energy.
"Of all the things to run into…" Chester whispered, his voice trembling.
"Got a name for this one?" Clara asked, her rifle aimed at the beast.
Chester swallowed hard. "It's a Slitborn Raveger," he said, his voice barely audible.
Clara let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Perfect. Just perfect."
The Siltborn Ravager was a nightmare made flesh—a predator that ruled the endless deserts. It was as fast as it was strong, capable of matching the speeds of the fastest military vehicles. Rumors said it could topple entire settlements if provoked.
The creature let out a guttural roar, its voice so loud it seemed to split the air. Chester and Clara winced, covering their ears as the sound reverberated through the ground, forcing them to drop their rifles.
As they scrambled to recover their weapons, Chester noticed something strange—the creature wasn't looking at them. Its bulging eyes were locked on a single point, its hulking body turning toward the cloaked figure.
"Damn it," Chester muttered under his breath, fumbling for his rifle. "This is bad. This is really bad."
Clara, finally recovering her rifle, glanced at him in confusion. "Why isn't it coming after us?"
Chester didn't answer immediately. His eyes darted between the creature and the figure as panic welled up in his chest.
Then, a gunshot rang out.
The sound was sharp and distinct, cutting through the storm like a crack of thunder. It was followed by another, and another, until a rapid succession of shots echoed across the desert.
Both Chester and Clara froze, their heads snapping toward the source of the sound.
The Ravager let out a roar of pain, its massive body lurching as it stumbled back.
"What the hell?" Clara whispered, her voice barely audible.
Chester, shaking off his shock, quickly raised his rifle and peered through the scope. His heart pounded as he scanned the battlefield. Through the swirling sand, he could see the Siltborn Ravager being riddled with bullets. Each shot landed with uncanny precision, striking the creature's joints, eyes, and other weak points.
The creature howled in agony, swinging its massive weapon wildly. The force of its strikes created massive shockwaves, sending sand flying in all directions.
Then Chester spotted them—the cloaked figure. Moving with inhuman speed and grace, they darted around the Ravager, closing the distance in mere seconds.
In their hand was a dagger—a short, curved blade that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
The figure lunged, the dagger slashing through the Ravager's thick hide like paper. Viscous, black blood sprayed into the air as deep gashes appeared across the creature's body.
The Ravager roared in fury, swinging its blade with enough force to level a small building. But the figure was faster, weaving through the attacks with an agility that seemed almost supernatural.
The fight was a brutal symphony of chaos.
The figure darted forward, driving the dagger deep into the creature's exposed side. The Ravager howled, rearing back and swinging wildly, but the figure used the momentum to leap onto its back.
With surgical precision, they plunged the dagger into the base of the creature's skull, twisting it with brutal efficiency.
The Ravager thrashed, its claws raking deep gouges into the sand as it tried to dislodge its assailant. But the figure was relentless, delivering a series of devastating slashes to the creature's spine, neck, and shoulders.
Finally, with a final, guttural roar, the Siltborn Ravager collapsed. Its massive body hit the ground with a thunderous impact, sending a plume of sand into the air.
The cloaked figure landed gracefully beside the fallen beast, their dagger dripping with black blood. With a flick of their wrist, they sent the remaining blood flying from the blade before sheathing it.
Chester lowered his rifle, his hands trembling. "They… they killed it," he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.
Clara stared at him, her expression a mix of awe and confusion. "You're serious?"
"I saw it all," Chester said, his voice shaky. "They took it down. Alone."
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of what they had witnessed sinking in.
Then Chester froze, his body going rigid as his eyes darted back toward the battlefield.
"What now?" Clara asked, her grip tightening on her rifle.
Chester's voice was barely a whisper. "They're coming this way."