The fight did not last long.
Though each of the creatures stood firmly at Rank Three, they were never a serious threat to Michael. Their numbers meant nothing against the gap in raw strength and speed between them. One by one, their movements slowed, their attacks grew desperate, and their coordination broke apart entirely.
Within moments, the swamp fell quiet again.
Broken bodies lay scattered across the mud, chitin shattered, limbs torn free, dark ichor seeping into the water and staining the ground an even deeper shade of purple. The ripples slowly faded.
Michael stood among the wreckage.
He glanced around at the destruction and paused.
For a brief moment, he wondered if he should have been more careful. A few of the bodies could have been usable.
Michael frowned, then shook his head.
There was no point forcing it.
