Chapter 183: Ebb And Flow
The Makara were one of the more known races from the Abyssal Realm. During the Convergence, they showed up in every major conflict across the seas. Entire fleets of humanity's navies sank under their assaults.
Watching them now, fighting the brood in the shifting water, Snare knew those stories weren't exaggerated. The nudibranch warriors moved with control, their forms cutting through the current with precision.
Too bad that didn't matter to the brood.
'Widow, tie them up!'
Widow gave a quick nod and turned, her thorax angling forward.
Tomb and Sin didn't get a chance to react before strands of web shot out, wrapping tight around their limbs and torsos. Before either could protest, Split-jaw darted in, grabbing both and dragging them back toward the glowing sphere that held Seo-jin.
'He bit me!'
He jerked his hand back with a hiss, sucking on his finger as he dropped the two struggling broodlings near the blood sphere.
Snare fixed them both with a hard look.
'You're both level nine. You can't push further until father gives you your mutation, and you need more time.'
He slammed his staff into the ground. A pulse of black spread out from Snare's feet, crawling along the stone as he activated [Shadow Relay]. The moment it reached the brood, their movements sharpened, strikes landing cleaner and faster.
'Sin! What did father tell you to become?'
Jaw tight, Sin bared his fangs as he answered.
'A healer.'
'And what does that mean to you?'
Still focused on the battle, darkness gathered around Snare's grip. His eyes locked onto a Makara warrior cutting through the current. He pointed, activating [Mark of Dread]. A black cross burned across the warrior's chest.
Sin strained against the bindings, barely tracking the question as the fight pulled at him. His voice came out rough.
'Nothing! Let us go—let me fight—!'
Snare's staff cracked against his skull, cutting him off. Reaching down, he grabbed Sin by one horn and forced his head up, turning him to face the battle.
'Look at the brood!'
Feeling the difference in their strength, Sin stopped struggling. His muscles went still under the tight webbing. He knew if Snare wanted him quiet, he could force it. So he obeyed and watched.
Still bound on the ground, Tomb watched too, chest rising against the restraints. Both were angry, both felt cheated. But as the fight carried on in front of them, Sin's jaw loosened a fraction.
Through the reddening water, a sickle cut through a cluster and hooked into the flesh of one of the Makara's eels. Panic yanked himself in, blades lit as he carved into it, teeth sinking as he held on while the creature thrashed.
Bile dropped onto the same eel, water jolting around the impact. His arms locked around the Makara rider. The nudibranch's head burst under the pressure as Bile squeezed.
Three more eels and their riders closed in, spears leveled at Bile's back. Before they reached him, a cone of sound tore from Hex's mouth and spread through the water. The eels seized and bucked, while the riders lost control, hands clamped over their ears as they slipped free.
Strumming his guitar while his aura blazed, Hex fed his music into the brood, while the soundwaves played havoc with the abyssal troops.
Widow and Synapse moved in clean. A javelin punched through one skull, and two sharp rifle cracks followed, dropping the rest.
Seeing Sin had settled, Snare lowered him back to the ground, releasing his horn.
'When we hit level ten, if father doesn't choose a mutation, we get a class. That class comes from what we've done, how we fight, what we are. If you level now, there's no telling what you'll become.'
Snare signaled to Lynn, motioning her over.
She pushed through the water, eyes wide, scanning the fight for anyone bleeding or down.
Snare pointed at Sin.
'Stay with him. Let him watch you heal.'
'No problem!'
Neither Sin nor Tomb struggled against the webbing anymore. Sin had gone still, chest tight as the realization settled in. He hadn't thought about it before. He hadn't realized how close he came to failing the broodfather. Now he didn't look away, his gaze fixed on Lynn's hands as they gave off a steady glow.
Satisfied, Snare straightened, narrowing his eyes as he reached through the broodlink.
'Now where did he—huh?'
He was searching for Fang, the newest addition, but found him already behind them. The broodling stood near the blood sphere, silent, unmoving, watching.
Fang frowned.
'I am not strong enough to fight. I will remain by father's side and use my life if I have to.'
Snare felt for any shift in intent and found none. He gave a short nod and turned back to the fight just as Min slammed two warriors together, their skulls bursting on impact.
Her laughter carried through the water, driving the humans forward.
'Come on Dead Hands, don't let these rat queefs beat us!'
Panic twisted around, one eye squeezed shut.
'Rat queef? What's a queef?'
Slims laughed with them, the recoil of his repeater kicking into his shoulder as he fired into the swarm. He leaned into it, caught up in the momentum.
'It's what comes out of your mouth when you talk, Panic!'
Skin hardening with a dull scrape, Split-jaw smacked Slims across the back of the head.
'That's the broodling you wanna mess with? Idiot!'
Panic didn't catch the joke. He just opened his mouth, testing it, while his arm kept moving, blade driving again and again into a Makara's face.
'Analysis finished!'
Synapse fired a concussive round, the shot cracking through the water as it slammed into an eel's skull. The impact sent a ripple through the group, nearby mounts jerking off course. The glow in his eyes dimmed as the scrolling text faded.
'Mid C rank on average. They can bond with their mounts, push up to low B for short bursts!'
Snare gave a short nod, grip tightening on his staff. He didn't like admitting it, but Synapse was becoming one of his most reliable siblings, just behind Pain and Bile.
But thinking about it, the only reason they were holding this line was because they stayed close to the Broodfather. The pull of his [Broodfather] title pressed through the link, feeding them just enough stats to keep going.
Now that he knew they were roughly even in strength, some of the weight eased off Snare's shoulders, the tension in his grip loosening a fraction. He still didn't relax.
He pushed orders through the link. The lessers broke off and dropped onto the fallen, tearing in and feeding, the flow of health spreading back through the brood. As he started to move toward Widow's position, Snare caught sight of a nudibranch warrior turning to flee. It barely made it a few strokes before something punched through its chest. A spider broodling crawled out from its mount's open mouth, legs slick with blood.
Snare's focus narrowed on the four lessers picking over the corpse, their movements sharp and deliberate.
His skin bristled.
'What the hell are those?!'
Panic grinned, teeth flashing as he pointed Gnarled Fang toward one of them.
'That's Stabby. He's my chosen.'
'Chosen?!'
It was clear he'd missed something while he'd been separated from the Broodfather. Watching the larger lessers hold their ground against wounded Makara, something tight crept up his throat.
'How'd you get one?!'
Synapse fired a concussive round, then pushed off and moved to the corpse of a massive eel. Looking to Snare, he shook his head, placing a claw against the corpse as he activated his new class skill, [Improvised Flesh].
Bloodlight spread across the body, tightening and stripping it down to bone and sinew. The structure lifted, then folded in on itself, compressing and reshaping into a solid barrier in front of him.
He set his rifle against it, fired again, then glanced at Snare, eyes cold.
'I don't think this is the time to be asking that, brother. Lead the brood while father is down. That is the logical course of action.'
'Logical action, logical action!'
With his sickle buried in a Makara's jaw, Panic yanked it free, voice carrying as he mocked Snare.
Feeling his earlier admiration for Synapse sour in his gut, Snare shot the four chosen one last hard look before forcing his attention away…for now.
Watching from the rear, Fang stood still beside the blood sphere, the slow current tugging at his frame. His eyes moved across the field, tracking each of his siblings as they fought.
Then suddenly, he stiffened...
'Shouldn't you be out there?'
Unseen but felt, Grimm lowered behind him, his dim blue glow bleeding into the water. His body drifted with the current before settling, coiling around the blood orb in a loose guard.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Grimm answered, his voice close and sudden, making Fang's shoulders tighten.
'They've got it handled…how can you see me?'
Fang smirked to himself, tail flicking once as he straightened.
'I can't. I just sensed you. And that human earlier looked like she was standing on something. That must have been you.'
'You're Fang, right?'
'Yes.'
'I'm Grimm. Oldest brother. Been with the Broodfather the longest. Well, besides the voice. That's what everyone calls it.'
Grimm lingered on the words, the faint pulse of the orb pressing against his coils. Watching the others laugh and shout while he stayed hidden had always grated on him. Now he could finally talk with the broodlings, and this new one was interesting. He reminded Grimm of his master.
Fang pulled his focus from the fight and tried to spot the ghost, eyes shifting through the empty space around him. No matter how he angled, there was nothing there.
'Big Brother Grimm, can I ask you something?'
'Of course!'
'Besides father, who's the strongest?'
The water shifted as Grimm lifted his skull slightly, the faint glow bending with the movement.
'Easy. Pain.'
'Pain?'
'You haven't met him yet. You will. Strongest we've got. Him and Panic were first. Now there's a lot of you.'
Fang went quiet for a beat.
'Between Pain and Panic, who wins?'
'Panic. No question.'
'But you said Pain is stronger?'
'He is. It's just…Panic is Panic. You don't mess with him.'
Fang turned, searching. When he found Panic, his brows drew tight right away.
At a glance, it looked like wild, loose violence. That's what Panic showed. But as Fang kept watching, the pattern underneath started to show.
Panic moved through them like something loose and wrong, body twisting with the current, one hand driving the dagger in tight, fast motions while the other snapped the chain out wide. The sickle hooked, bit, tore free.
He didn't slow.
A Makara rider lunged. Panic leaned just enough for the spear to miss his throat, then stepped in, dagger punching under the jaw. At the same time, the chain snapped out behind him, the sickle catching the eel's eye. He yanked hard, dragging the mount off line as it thrashed.
It looked messy.
Too fast. Too violent.
He climbed the eel's neck as it bucked, teeth sinking in for grip while his dagger carved down its spine in short, brutal strokes. Blood clouded the water. The rider tried to turn, too slow. Panic's chain wrapped once around its arm, then tightened. Bone popped. He didn't even look as he pulled, using the body as a shield against a strike coming from the side.
The spear meant for him hit the Makara instead.
Panic kicked off the corpse, spinning through the water. The sickle flashed again, opening another throat, the body drifting just enough to block a second rider's line of sight. Widow's web hit that same rider a heartbeat later, binding it mid-motion.
Panic was already gone.
He dropped low, dragging the chain across the fins of an eel, cutting scales. The mount collapsed into the path of another, tangling them together. Bile crashed into the pile a second later, fists flying, crushing everything caught inside.
At a glance, it was chaos.
Panic flailing. Cutting. Biting.
Fang's eyes narrowed.
Every step landed where something was about to be. Every strike hit where it mattered.
That eel he crippled had been lining up behind Hex. That body he yanked into place took a hit meant for one of the lessers. That blind spot he created gave Synapse a clean shot.
Panic didn't look at them.
Didn't call out.
Didn't signal.
He just moved.
The chain snapped out again, sickle biting into a rider's shoulder, dragging it down just as Slims' bolt tore through its chest. Panic let go before the body even stopped moving, already turning, already somewhere else.
Fang watched longer.
The pattern held.
Nothing wasted. No extra motion. Even the misses weren't misses. They forced movement, broke lines, opened space. The violence was just the surface. Underneath it, everything lined up.
Fang's grip tightened at his side.
Panic wasn't just fighting. He was controlling the flow of battle.
Grimm's words settled into place. Watching closer, it made sense. Panic was an artist, every cut placed, every pull timed, flesh giving way under his hands as blood spread through the water.
Fang shifted forward an inch, muscles tightening to move, but he stopped himself. Barely.
Meanwhile, the fight had tilted hard in their favor.
Makara bodies drifted through the water, mounts twitching or going still as blood spread in thick clouds. What was left of their formation had broken into scattered clusters, each one getting cut down as the brood closed in. Movements tightened. Strikes landed clean. No wasted motion, no gaps left open.
They were winning.
Panic was already moving ahead of the line, chain snapping out, sickle hooking into a fleeing rider and dragging it back. He shifted with the pull, setting his footing for the next strike—then his head snapped to the side.
His body froze for a fraction of a second.
'Stabby!!'
The scream tore out of him, sharp enough to cut through the noise of the fight.
Everyone turned.
Panic's chosen jerked mid-step. A vent bug burst from the dark and hit it full force, its jaws splitting wide as it crushed the small body into the ground. Legs kicked once before the thing dragged it under.
Another surged up beside it.
Then another.
The remaining chosen didn't even get a chance to react. Mandibles punched through them, bodies torn apart in seconds as the bugs ripped and fed, pieces vanishing into the swarm.
The water churned hard now, thick with movement.
The brood stalled, just for a beat. Then the dark behind the Makara line shifted. Shapes poured forward, low and fast, dozens turning into hundreds as they flooded into view. Shells scraped against stone, jaws snapping in uneven rhythm as they closed the distance in seconds.
Vent bugs.
C rank.
They didn't hesitate.
They hit the outer edge of the brood first. Lessers got caught and dragged down before they could react, bodies torn open as the swarm rolled over them. The line buckled, space collapsing as the bugs forced their way in.
The battlefield changed.
And for the first time since the fighting started, the brood wasn't the one pressing forward.