The remaining grasshoppers stood frozen, trembling under the weight of Denzil's piercing gaze. His mandibles dripped with dark ichor from a previous kill, glinting like obsidian blades in the dim fortress light. The corridor echoed with the distant hum of combat, but here, the silence was suffocating.
"You're all pathetic," Denzil spat with contempt. "You grovel at my feet and call yourselves soldiers? If you can't defeat a few invading ants, what use are you to Hopper? I'll kill you myself once I've finished with the real threat."
The grasshoppers flinched, taking an instinctive step back. One tried to protest, but his voice cracked and failed him.
"Please... Denzil sir, have mercy—"
"Mercy is for the strong," he replied coldly.
A voice sliced through the air like a blade. "You're a heartless monster!"
Denzil didn't even blink. In an instant, his body flickered, and he reappeared before Lieutenant Leon. A wet crunch followed as Denzil's mandible pierced Leon's chest. The impact sent a jarring shockwave through the floor. Leon gasped, eyes wide, as blood welled in his mouth.
"It's called emotional intelligence," Denzil murmured in a flat tone. "If they can't even defeat worthless ants like you, then they're as good as dead weight."
"No, Leon!!" Amelia's voice cracked as she sprinted to catch his falling body.
Ruth's shriek of rage came next. Her mandibles flashed in the dim light, slashing furiously toward Denzil. But he twisted away effortlessly, air whistling with his sudden movement. In a blink, he stood in front of them again, unscathed.
Amelia dropped to her knees, catching Leon before he hit the ground. His breathing was shallow.
"He was too fast," Leon rasped, pain dancing in his eyes. "I didn't even see him move."
"Try to save your breath. You'll be okay. I've got you," said Amelia, clutching his shoulders tightly.
Denzil's lip curled. "Without even engaging you, woman, I can already tell you're stronger than the weakling I just cut down."
Ruth trembled, her eyes darkening. "I'll cut you down for what you've done to him."
"Stand down, Ruth," said Ivan sternly.
"But Ivan—"
"You saw it yourself. He's too fast and too strong. You might hold your own for a moment, but you can't win against him. The chances are too slim."
Ivan stepped forward, his presence commanding. The stone beneath his feet cracked from the pressure of his focused aura.
"I'll take him down," he said with calm resolve. "Leave him to me. I'll figure something out."
Ruth hesitated, clenching her fists.
"Amelia, take Leon to a safer place and treat his wounds," Ivan ordered. "Ruth, protect them. This battlefield is about to grow extremely violent."
Denzil smirked. "So, you're their General. The strongest of their kind. I'll enjoy cutting you down."
Amelia nodded and, lifting Leon with a grunt, began to retreat. "Right. Let's go. Be careful, Ivan. Please." Mumbled Ruth worryingly.
Ivan gave no reply, stepping forward until only a few feet separated him from Denzil. The air between them grew thick with tension.
Without warning, they lunged.
Mandibles clashed with a resonating clang that vibrated through the floor. Sparks exploded into the dim air, bouncing off the stone walls as two of the strongest of both species collided. Denzil's speed was blinding, his limbs vanishing and reappearing in flashes. But Ivan moved with measured power, countering each attack with the force of a landslide.
The fortress trembled. Dust and pebbles fell from the arched ceiling above. The grasshoppers witnessing the fight instantly retreated to a safer place.
Denzil appeared behind Ivan in a blur, striking down—but Ivan's arm shot up and blocked it, the sound like iron meeting steel.
"You're fast," Ivan admitted, pushing him back with a heave.
Denzil landed in a crouch and grinned. "And you're stronger than I expected. No wonder why they follow you."
They charged again.
The sound of each impact ricocheted down the hallway. Denzil's four blade-like mandibles swept in arcs, carving the air with sharp whistles. Ivan ducked, pivoted, countered with his own mandibles in a disciplined rhythm. Every move was grounded, precise, calculated.
They slid across the floor, locked arm to arm, faces inches apart. Ivan's gaze was steely, unshaken. Denzil's eyes glowed with excitement.
"It's been a while since someone forced me to fight like this," Denzil said.
Ivan's tone was grave. "And it's been longer since I faced someone this fast and intelligent."
Their mandibles locked once more, the reverberation traveling up through their arms. Sweat trickled down Ivan's cheek, hot against the cool stone air. The vibrations echoed in his bones.
He twisted suddenly, using Denzil's weight against him. Denzil flipped midair and landed effortlessly, claws scraping against the stone floor.
Each movement sent subtle tremors into Ivan's legs. He could feel the shift in air pressure before Denzil struck. His ears picked up the faintest rustle—the friction of movement—and responded instinctively, blocking a blow that came from behind.
Denzil snarled, and for a split second, their faces met. Ivan saw no rage in his eyes, only thrill. Hunger.
They separated and circled each other. The corridor seemed to shrink around them. Cracks spidered across the floor from the impact zones.
Denzil struck with a feint to the left, then swung his mandibles from the right. Ivan saw through it, blocking both.
"Good eye," Denzil said, panting slightly. "Most would be dead by now."
Ivan responded with a powerful thrust that sent Denzil skidding back. The wall behind cracked from the impact.
The air was humid, charged with tension. Their skin glistened with sweat. Every muscle in Ivan's body burned with exertion. Yet neither man had sustained any injury. They were evenly matched—speed and technique versus strength and discipline.
Their movements slowed for a moment. The only sound was the distant clatter of war and the drip of water from some unseen crack in the ceiling.
Ivan's eyes scanned Denzil's stance. He was breathing hard but looked far from done. His form was too fluid, like a snake waiting to strike again.
Denzil adjusted his footing. "Tell me, General. Do you always fight like this? Or are you holding back?"
Ivan's voice was low. "I don't waste energy speaking in combat."
"Fair enough," Denzil smirked.
They launched again.
The floor split where they met, jagged shards of stone rising like spears around them. Denzil's feet barely touched the ground—his strikes blurred, but Ivan weathered them all. Each deflection sent jolts up his arms, but his face remained unreadable.
He stepped in, elbowed Denzil in the ribs, and spun with a sweeping mandible strike. Denzil parried and answered with a low kick that Ivan blocked with his shin. The clash sent both skidding apart.
Neither had landed a definitive blow.
Again. And again. Back and forth like a deadly dance.
The corridor now resembled a warzone. Walls were gouged, floor torn. But still, neither fighter relented.
"Your endurance is impressive," Denzil said, wiping sweat from his chin.
Ivan remained silent, breathing steady.
They stood in the rubble, eyes locked, senses sharp. Their ears were attuned to every faint creak of the structure, every whisper of movement. Their skin itched from the grime and grit in the air.
Still, the fight continued.
Neither retreated.
Neither fell.