The smoking wreckage of the huge grayling ship had barely come to a stop before several small escape capsules burst out from its ruptured side. The metallic pods spun wildly as they were expelled, slamming into the ground with jarring thuds and scattering dust and scorched earth across the clearing.
From within them, the Graylings came crawling—grotesque, squelching things with slick limbs and glimmering weapon-tentacles twirling iut. They didn't hesitate. Even injured, they spilled out like a tide of tentacled rage.
Xing Yu and Varon were already on the move.
Xing landed in a crouch near the closest pod, his blade already drawn and glinting faintly with a silver light. Without a word, he surged forward and sliced straight through the first Grayling before it had fully uncoiled its limbs. His movements were quick, deadly—like a shadow given form.
