The swarm came like a living storm, chaotic and relentless, yet bound together by a single, terrifying intent as hundreds of insect-like creatures surged across the burning sands toward Zakar.
Their jagged limbs tore through the ground while their countless eyes locked onto him with a primal hunger to overwhelm and destroy, but despite the sheer number rushing at him, Zakar didn't move at first.
He stood still, calm and composed, his hand resting on the hilt of his Tyrann Sword as his sharp gaze analyzed the movement of the swarm as a whole rather than focusing on individual targets, reading their flow, their rhythm, their attack pattern like a seasoned predator studying its prey.
"…Messy bitches," he muttered quietly, and the moment they reached him, everything changed.
