The scorpion's cry of pain jolted the remaining scorpions from their stunned silence, their bodies tensing with renewed aggression.
The scorpions advanced, their bodies moving in a deadly rhythm that spoke of centuries of evolution and predation.
Their eyes, large and glossy, were devoid of empathy or compassion, the soulless gaze of the predator.
There was no pity in their eyes, no hesitation in their movements. They were driven by a primal hunger, a need to hunt and to kill that knew no mercy.
The scorpion whose stinger had been severed was not yet out of the fight. It had recovered from its shock and pain, and it was now filled with a fiery determination to avenge its injury.
With a screech of rage, the scorpion rushed towards me, its pincers snapping and its legs pumping. It was moving with a single-minded purpose, its body a weapon of pure aggression.
