Chapter 442: Shapeshifters In The Umbral Basin

A woman stumbled out from the depths of the fog, clutching her left shoulder.

She was clad in the standard scout-infantry armor of Blessed Land, her face smeared with soot and dirt, her eyes wide with breathless panic.

"Thank the gods... Commander Tasmin!" the woman cried, running toward the squad with outstretched arms. "I... I was assigned to Commander Brida’s squad... we were ambushed by an alpha pack near the southern ridge... I got separated from the group and—"

THWIP!

Tasmin’s right arm blurred into a silver streak.

A heavy throwing dagger whistled through the air with terrifying velocity, burying itself dead-center between the running woman’s eyebrows with a sickening hollow thwack.

"Aah!"

Several of the recruit maidens behind Tasmin gasped in sheer, horrified shock, their hands flying to their mouths as the woman’s body froze mid-stride.

"Commander! What did you just do?!" a recruit cried in panic.

Before the panic could spread, the body of the woman did not collapse.

SZZZZT... BUBBLE... SQUELCH!

The woman’s skull and chest began to boil violently, her pale flesh liquefying into gray bubbling slime.

The human silhouette stretched, twisted, and distorted with the wet, agonizing sounds of snapping cartilage and expanding bone, rapidly ballooning into a massive eight-foot-tall bipedal monstrosity.

The creature was a grotesque standing wolf-aberration covered in patchy, matted fur of pitch-black and dull silver.

Its torso was unnaturally long and gaunt, its arms ended in four-foot sickle-claws of jagged bone, and its deformed asymmetrical jaws dripped with foul acidic saliva that hissed against the stone.

Tasmin calmly drew a second throwing dagger from her hip, stepping forward with cold disdain.

"You got the territorial emblem wrong, you ugly parasite," Tasmin drawled coldly, gesturing with the tip of her blade. "The Blessed Land crest has the golden sword piercing the cracked shield straight down the vertical center... On your forged breastplate, you carved the crossguard tilted to the left. If you’re going to shapeshift into one of our sisters, at least pay attention to basic uniform standards."

The grotesque wolf-beast let out a wet gurgling snarl, reaching up with a sickle-claw to wrench Tasmin’s throwing dagger from its forehead.

The wound sizzled and bubbled, regenerating at a sluggish, strained pace.

Tasmin’s sharp amber eyes swept over the monster’s torso, immediately noting the deep cauterized cleave marks and shattered ribs that already riddled its frame... injuries that were clearly inflicted by a massive blunt-force bladed weapon.

’It claimed it was running from Brida’s squad...’ Tasmin thought with a dry sarcastic smirk touching her lips. ’Don’t tell me that muscle-headed brute Brida ran into this shape-shifting trash and half-assed finishing the job?’

Tasmin wouldn’t put it past the towering woman to get bored mid-fight and let an injured straggler run off.

"GRAAAAAAAH!"

Enraged that its ambush had failed, the grotesque wolf-aberration lunged forward with savage speed, its sickle-claws sweeping horizontally to cleave Tasmin in half.

Tasmin smiled calmly, dropping her center of gravity into an agile skirmish stance.

"Alright, girls. Watch closely... this is how you properly dissect a—"

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The air inside the narrow canyon violently imploded.

An armored blur tore out from the depths of the thick fog at Mach-speed, moving with such absurd velocity that the displaced air formed a visible shockwave cone around its frame.

SPLAT-CRUNCH!

The blur collided dead-center with the leaping wolf-aberration.

The impact was so cataclysmic that the eight-foot monster didn’t even have time to shriek... its entire body was instantaneously pulverized into a fine, crimson mist of crushed bone, shredded fur, and liquified organs that splattered across the canyon walls.

FWHUUUUUSH.

The concussive shockwave blew the surrounding white fog away completely, clearing the entire canyon in a single violent draft.

Standing in the center of the fresh blood splatter looking completely unscathed, was Brida.

The Commander had her tower shield strapped securely to her back, while her heavy war-cleaver rested casually across her broad shoulder.

She was drenched from head to toe in black monster blood, her fierce battle-hardened face sporting a wide and thoroughly satisfied grin.

Brida casually clapped her thick armored gauntlets together, dusting off a chunk of pulverized wolf gristle.

"Fuuu..." Brida exhaled with a relaxed toothy smirk, looking up at Tasmin. "Finally caught up to that slippery little cockroach."

...

The lingering stench of sulfurous pulverized wolf marrow hung thick in the narrow canyon, settling like a layer of hot grease over the cold obsidian crags.

A dead quiet blanketed Squad Three.

The fifteen recruit maidens stood frozen in their tight defensive wedge, their knuckles turning white against the polished ash-wood shafts of their spears.

Their breaths caught hard in their chests as they stared at the center of the ravine where, barely a second prior, an eight-foot-tall bipedal wolf abomination had been lunging forward with sickle-claws bared to tear their commander in two.

Now, there was only a colossal, pulverized crater of liquid gore, bone splinters, and black slime painting the stone walls.

And standing right in the epicenter of the carnage, completely unbothered, was Brida.

The towering woman stood like an immovable monolith of bloodstained iron.

’She’s scary...’

Her massive tower shield remained locked securely to the harness on her back, while her heavy war-cleaver rested lazily across her broad shoulder.

Black viscous monster blood dripped steadily from the spiked rims of her iron gauntlets, pattering softly onto the rock.

Drip...! Drip...! Drip...!

"Is... is she truly mortal?" a young recruit maiden in the back rank whispered, her voice trembling with awe and sheer terror as she swallowed hard. "She moved so fast the air in the gorge literally imploded..."

"Quiet!" another recruit hissed beneath her breath, her eyes wide as she stared at Brida’s back. "Did you forget what she did during the Lord War against the Unmovable Wall which we were a part of? She held off entire phalanxes of infantry by herself! One would think that after days of war, her muscles would be completely torn, cramped, and sore... but look at her! She’s still a monster!"

"She’s terrifying," a third recruit muttered, a cold bead of sweat rolling down her temple. "I don’t think fatigue even exists in that woman’s vocabulary. If she swung that cleaver at a mountain, the mountain would apologize and split in half..."

Standing ten paces away, Tasmin didn’t share the recruits’ wide-eyed terror.

The agile scout commander twirled her slender void-iron dagger around her fingers with effortless ease, sliding it into her hip sheath with a crisp click.

She crossed her arms over her chest, letting out a long exasperated sigh as she narrowed her amber eyes at the towering Commander.

"Care to explain why you let that parasite escape your sector in the first place, Brida?" Tasmin asked, her melodic voice dripping with deadpan annoyance. "You’re a Commander of Blessed Land. Since when do you let a half-dead straggler sprint three miles across the basin just so it can try to ambush my squad?"

Brida stopped wiping her gauntlets.

She waved a thick iron-plated hand dismissively through the air, rolling her broad shoulders with a loud popping crack of her cervical vertebrae.

"Ah, don’t bust my chops, Tasmin," Brida grumbled, letting out a rough sniffle as she rubbed the bridge of her nose with the back of a bloody glove. "You have no idea what my squad ran into back at the eastern ridge... We were sweeping through the deadwood when suddenly, out of nowhere, we got jumped by an entire pack of those disgusting freaks and do you know what face they were wearing?"

Tasmin raised an eyebrow, entirely unimpressed. "What face?"

"Lord Silas’s face," Brida said, her fierce expression twisting into a dramatic grimace of lingering trauma. "Dozens of them. All running on all fours through the mud, hissing and snapping their jaws, wearing the Captain’s handsome, smiling face! Do you have any idea how psychologically damaging that is?! I had to swing my cleaver and crush twelve of my own Lord’s faces into red paste just to clear a path! My soul was weeping the entire time!"

She threw her hands up in exasperation, the heavy iron plates of her armor rattling loudly against her breastplate.

"By the time I finished smashing the twelfth fake Silas, this last slippery bastard took advantage of my emotional turmoil and bolted into the fog! Truly, shapeshifters are the most vile unholy vermin in existence!"

A massive deadpan sweatdrop practically formed on the side of Tasmin’s temple.

She stared at Brida with an expression that conveyed soul-deep exhaustion.

"You crushed twelve fake copies of our Lord without blinking, and you’re calling that ’emotional turmoil’?" Tasmin deadpanned, shaking her head.

Then, her eyes narrowed with sudden, sharp realization. "Wait a minute... where the hell is your squad, Brida?"

Brida paused. She blinked her large amber eyes, tilting her head to the side like a giant confused hound.

"My squad?" Brida repeated casually. "Oh, I left them behind on the other side of the ridge... In that wide clearing just past the fog bank. It’s barely a five-minute jog from here."

SLAP!

Tasmin brought her palm up, planting it squarely against her own face with a loud stinging crack that echoed through the canyon.

She dragged her fingers slowly down her skin, her teeth grinding together so hard her jaw muscles visibly twitched.

"You... you left fifteen recruits completely unattended..." Tasmin muttered, her voice trembling with rising disbelief. "...in the middle of an uncharted basin sector, immediately after discovering an active nest of bipedal shapeshifting parasites that mimic human appearance?"

Brida opened her mouth to offer a defense—

"Well, they were holding their spears nicely and—"

She froze.

Brida’s eyes snapped wide. The color drained from her fierce face as the catastrophic logistical oversight finally registered inside her battle-hardened brain.

"OH SHIT!" Brida roared.

Without waiting another microsecond, the Titan spun on her armored heels, detonating the stone floor beneath her boots with a violent boom as she sprinted back toward the foggy ridge like a runaway locomotive.

"Squad Three, on me! Double time!" Tasmin barked sharply, gesturing with her blades. "Don’t lose formation!"

"Move, move, move!" the fifteen recruit maidens shouted, hoisting their spears and breaking into a dead sprint behind their commander.

The dense unnatural fog whipped violently past their faces as Squad Three tore through the rocky pass.

Less than two minutes later, the mist abruptly thinned, giving way to a wide, bowl-shaped clearing surrounded by jagged obsidian pillars.

But the moment Brida and Tasmin burst into the clearing, both commanders skidded to an immediate halt, their boots tearing deep furrows into the mossy dirt.

The clearing was in chaotic turmoil.

Thirty recruit maidens... all wearing the identical dark leather-and-sky-iron scout armor of Blessed Land, all bearing the cracked obsidian shield and golden sword insignia were locked in a screaming brawl.

Spears were clashing against bucklers, arming swords were locked at the hilt, and fists were flying wildly across the clearing.

The moment Brida’s armored silhouette breached the perimeter, the fighting instantly halted.

Every single maiden in the clearing turned toward the entrance, pointing their trembling fingers across the divide and screaming in hysterical panic.

"COMMANDER BRIDA! THEY’RE SHAPESHIFTERS! KILL THEM!"

"DON’T LISTEN TO THEM, COMMANDER! THEY’RE THE FAKES! WE WERE WAITING FOR YOU AND THEY SURGED OUT OF THE MIST!"

"LOOK AT HER NOSE! SARAH DOESN’T HAVE A FRECKLE ON HER LEFT NOSTRIL! SHE’S A MONSTER!"

"I’VE HAD THIS FRECKLE SINCE BIRTH, YOU SLIMY PARASITE! DIE!"

"EVERYBODY SHUT THE HELL UP!" Brida’s booming thunderous voice reverberated across the canyon like an artillery strike, physically rattling the teeth in the girls’ jaws and silencing the chaotic screaming instantly.

Brida stepped into the center of the clearing, her heavy boots crunching on the gravel.

She looked back and forth between the two identical groups of fifteen maidens, her broad brow furrowing deeply as she scratched her scarred cheek in utter helpless bewilderment.

"Alright... which one of you is the real Sarah who asked me for extra dried beef rations this morning?" Brida asked, pointing a thick gauntlet.

Both Sarahs raised their hands simultaneously. "Me! I asked for the extra salt-cured strip!"

’How does she even know that...?’

Brida’s eye twitched.

She looked over her shoulder toward Tasmin, completely at a loss for words.

"Tasmin... I’m a brawler. I solve problems by crushing them with heavy steel. My brain isn’t built for psychological detective work. How do we tell which fifteen to slaughter?"

Tasmin let out a soft low chuckle.

She walked past Brida, moving with an eerie grace as she stepped up to the saddle of her Blessed Wolf, swinging her leg over the mount’s back with fluid athleticism.

She reined the silver wolf in, letting the beast pad slowly toward the center of the divided maidens.

"I believe you," Tasmin said softly, her amber eyes scanning the thirty faces with razor-sharp coldness.

"Which ones?!" Brida asked, gripping her cleaver. "Point at them and I’ll turn them into soup!"

"The ones on the left," Tasmin answered smoothly.

The fifteen maidens on the left flank immediately took a step forward, their eyes widening in panic.

"Commander Tasmin, no! We’re the real Squad Two! We swear on our Lord’s name—"

VUUUUUUM.

Before the words could fully leave their mouths, the pitch-black shadow cast beneath Tasmin’s Blessed Wolf violently surged.

The dark puddle did not remain on the ground... it extended outward like a living web of liquid obsidian, shooting across the stone floor in fifteen distinct needle-thin tendrils.

In less than a fraction of a microsecond, the tendrils erupted beneath the boots of the fifteen maidens on the left, coiling around their ankles, calves, and hips like solid iron vices.

"[Shadow Anchorage]."