Chapter 95 - Dungeon - III
The swamp fell eerily silent. The bubbles bursting on the black surface ceased. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as the mist thickened. It was this deathly silence that first alerted Dorian.
"It's coming!" he snarled, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.
The waters parted as if split by an invisible blade. First emerged the head—a triangular monstrosity covered in green-metallic chitin plates that refracted the dying sunlight in venomous hues. Each plate overlapped like a living, pulsating demonic armor. Between the gaps in the carapace, amber mucus oozed, hissing as it touched the water.
Its segmented body rose meter after meter, revealing jointed legs ending in chitinous hooks as sharp as surgical scalpels. The stench it emitted wasn't just rot—it carried the metallic reek of a battlefield after slaughter, mixed with the nauseating sweetness of decaying flesh.
"Combat formation!" Dorian roared, his shield already positioned in front of the group, glowing fiercely as his prana fueled its defenses before the order was even fully spoken.
The centipede arched its body like a scorpion ready to strike. Its abdominal plates split apart with a wet, tearing sound, revealing hundreds of pulsating glands that released a yellow-green mist. The air hissed as the gas met the swamp's moisture, forming acidic droplets that rained down on the group.
Aeloria moved with the grace of a maestro. Her fingers danced through the air, weaving a dome of bluish ice that encapsulated the poisonous cloud. The ice began melting immediately, dripping acid that corroded the ground.
Before anyone could breathe in relief, the creature's maw split open at an impossible angle, revealing not teeth but a crown of inner thorns that pulsed like independent organs.
From this anatomical nightmare, where its tongue should have been, emerged a black serpent—a living appendage writhing with a will of its own, its surface so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. The creature lunged, slamming into Dorian.
The impact against Dorian's shield echoed like a funeral bell. The warrior was thrown backward, his boots carving furrows into the earth, each step a struggle against momentum. His arms trembled under the force, muscles straining like ship ropes in a storm.
"Front left leg joints!" Seraphine shouted, her hunter's eyes already pinpointing the weak spot in the living armor.