The abomination slammed into the forest floor like the sky itself had fallen—its body a grotesque mound of writhing limbs, slick with ichor and flailing with erratic fury. The moment its body hit the ground, the knights swarmed like hornets to a wounded intruder in their hive. There was no command needed. No shouted orders or formation drills. Just instinct—pure, sharpened, honed instinct. They had fought four of these things already. They knew what had to be done.
Steel clashed against flesh, cutting deep but never enough. The beast's skin, though split and mangled from the fall, still refused to yield easily. Blades scraped and sparked along muscle like trying to carve into wet stone. But the knights didn't stop. If anything, they pressed harder.
