Chapter 31: Fangs, Fruit, Fool’s luck.
Chapter 31: Fangs, Fruit, Fool's luck.
The weight of the scorpion’s corpse pressed against his back, heavy, warm, and rotting. But right now, it was the safest place.
Oliver dared not to breathe too loud. Every rasp of air sounded deafening to his ears. Above him, the crunch of carapace against fang echoed — slow, deliberate, wet.
A claw scraped against the ground just inches from his exposed foot, and he clenched every muscle, praying the darkness would keep him hidden a little longer.
The stench of blood and bile filled his mouth. His body screamed for him to run, to crawl, to move — but he knew: one mistake, one shift, and the horde would find him.
And there would be no mercy.
It was a heavy, growing panic sitting right in his chest.
He peeked out from the crack under the carapace.
The scorpions were still there.
All 96 of them.
Some scuttling around lazily, some chewing noisily on corpses.
None of them in a real hurry now — not without any living prey left.