Chapter 237
Chapter 237
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 237
Chapter Title: Silent Swarm Assault
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Battles in Space Survival are usually pretty rowdy affairs.
Energy cannon barrages rain down from massive ships hundreds of meters long in the sky, while on the ground, soldiers in powered armor clash with all sorts of monsters.
Some players prefer commanding from the flagship, others dive right into the fray on foot. No matter which faction a player belongs to, war is like a flashy, chaotic festival.
In that sense, Aimorphs are a bit of an outlier—stealth and ambushes are encouraged even into the mid-to-late game.
Come to think of it, I forgot one. There's actually another faction that fights just as quietly as Aimorphs.
The Screamers.
Controlled by machines, they only speak when necessary and make almost no other noise. No screams from wounded soldiers, no desperate cries for home—none of the usual battlefield clamor.
And maybe that's why.
The swamp lake inside the cliffside cavern where we were fighting felt eerily silent. Dozens of Screamers lunged at me, but without a sound. Just the ripple of water, nothing more.
The erosion tentacles dormant within my thick carapace suddenly stirred to life all at once.
Their targets: the Screamers in the rear. The tentacles unfurled their six appendages wide, slithering across the swamp like pythons stalking prey, and seized them.
The Screamers closer to me drew their weapons.
They'd clearly been modified again since last time—their forms brimmed with bizarre individuality. Extra legs, sagging flesh making them bloated, multiple eyes sprouting everywhere, and so on.
Back when PS-111 first met me, it had fused with five different species. And during its repairs, it incorporated materials like Blood River hides or Galleron claws.
The Screamers invading the dragon's lair were the same. They'd patched themselves with debris from fallen comrades, emerging reinforced.
They look way less stable than PS-111, though.
They had a mishmash of genes slapped together, far messier than PS-111's rebuilt frame. Design-wise and efficiency-wise, it all seemed sloppy. Energy consumption had to be sky-high, and with mismatched parts everywhere, maintenance would be a nightmare.
They'd thrown everything into a short-term blitz to kill me, nothing more.
Fat chance of that.
Even now, my nest buddies were picking off Screamers one by one throughout the lair. Striking from behind slime walls at just the right moment, or getting flanked while distracted by smog tower fog—pick your poison.
When an enemy fell, black slime absorbed the corpse and funneled nutrients to me. Thanks to the nest trait Human Sacrifice.
And I've got Blood River on my side too.
One Screamer charged straight at me, leaping onto my back to attack.
It must have grafted Hellside Hornet genes—three or four of its legs ended in scythe-like claws. Each flash of those talons gouged deep scars into my carapace and sliced long wounds across the erosion tentacles.
As it hammered away, more Screamers piled on. Normally I'd dodge, but not today.
I yanked my combat arms from the swamp floor and snatched the incoming Screamers mid-leap.
The Leech of Devouring hands triggered, and their flesh shriveled instantly. High-calorie energy sources in seconds, leaving only rigid metal skeletons behind.
One dies, another revives. Vitality siphoned from the Screamer surged through me. Shattered shell and bleeding gashes healed like they'd never happened.
The one perched on my back froze mid-attack. Even its governing AI couldn't process what was happening.
I snapped my coiled tail straight. Combined with my serpentine lower body, the massive thing—over twenty meters long—surged from the water, cleaving the surface.
The Screamer scrambling atop my carapace spotted it and tried to flee. No way was I letting it escape after feasting on free hits.
I slammed it with the pincer at my tail's tip. Collision with my body's toughest part shattered its head carapace and metal frame to bits.
But I wasn't done. I whipped my tail side to side in a massive arc. Approaching Screamers scattered in panic, but not all made it.
Some got flung into the cavern ceiling or walls; others snagged in my pincers. I could crush them in two, but held off.
Mouth gaping wide, I reeled my tail inward. The ones in the pincers thrashed, realizing too late what was coming—futile struggles.
Legs flailed to fend me off. Composite talons stabbed my maw; flames from their bodies scorched my palate.
Pain was fleeting. The nest healed every wound as it formed.
I snapped my serpentine jaws shut. Upper bodies and heads protruding from the pincers crunched and slid down my throat.
Tastes like shit.
Like downing mint candy, orange juice, and red bean jelly all at once—utterly vile. After savoring Galleron lately, my tolerance had tanked.
I spat the limp remnants—headless and torso-less—into the swamp and swallowed the rest. Retreating Screamers unleashed a barrage.
From Star Union slug throwers like flechettes and shock rounds to energy weapons condensing psy-power. Some drew blood, some stung.
But that was it.
They could wreck my body all they wanted—I wouldn't die. To take down a fully prepped Aimorph in its nest, they'd need heavier firepower.
Tanking their volley, I readied my next weapon.
The limp tentacles under my neck twitched upright. Thanks to the black dragon heart, psy-power charged in a flash.
The fully juiced monster tentacles spewed fire.
The dragon's breath consumed everything. Gleaming purple metal skeletons reflecting the blaze, ragged breaths from flesh-buried mouths—all gone.
Thieves invading the dragon's cave fled at the sight of comrades burning.
As they bolted for the exit, I spread my wing arms wide. Like the Norse goddess of night unfurling her cloak, my wings blanketed the swamp lake.
No one leaves this place without my say-so.
No one.
PS-005 outside the nest knew the battle had turned against them.
All contact lost with the four squads—98 Screamers total—that had entered the opposite cliff cave. Could be comms interference, but the AI embedded in its skull dismissed that.
Their final transmissions before cutoff told the tale: environment, enemy, everything unpredictable. Far from normal.
Fate of the trapped ones was obvious. Most wouldn't return.
209 Screamers committed to the Galleron lair assault, nearly wiped out. Just PS-005 and one other PS model left.
If it weren't a machine, it'd have bolted by now. Instead, it awaited orders from Pira Eleven.
The response came soon enough.
"Prepare to withdraw."
"Acknowledged."
Intel from before comms died had been relayed.
Two hundred lost, but not a total loss. They'd gleaned scraps on Special Target A—enough to devise new plans.
Comms with Pira Eleven severed, they abandoned the cliff.
Half-biological, half-machine horrors with multiple metal legs traversed the forest. Plenty of time since leaving the cliff, yet the woods remained pitch-black.
Trivial darkness for them—they switched to infrared vision, legs pistoning relentlessly.
En route to Pira Eleven at the ice ravine, PS-005 caught a sound.
Frozen soil cracking faintly. The noise native critters made when moving.
Both Screamers halted, scanning warily. No choice.
No wildlife in these woods—they'd exterminated it all before hitting the Galleron lair.
That footfall came from something new.
PS-005 deployed a scout drone while staying alert. It zipped through the trees, probing.
Synced to its feed, scanning for movement—then the view jerked wildly.
Sync forcibly cut, PS-005 armed its bio-weapons. Its companion prepped for combat too.
They homed in on the drone's last position. Not far off, they found the wreckage.
Oddly, not on the icy ground but perched in a tree.
Vision sensor pierced by a flung metal spear.
PS-005 replayed the final frames.
Heat-sensing drone moments before freeze-frame: a streak of light hurtling in. It pinpointed the spear's origin, then ended playback. PS-005's gaze locked on that spot.
"Investigate required."
"Investigating."
Companion scuttled toward the launch point.
Meanwhile, PS-005 switched to projectile detection mode.
No primitives wielding such weapons since planetfall. This world's erratic climate wasn't kind to civilizations.
Whoever it was, capture and gene-scan would reveal all.
Sensors flipped in seconds, it peered ahead.
The advance Screamer scouting spear traces.
Or rather, its decapitated corpse.
And before it loomed a massive quadruped beast.
Head like an Earth raptor crowned with sharp horns, body akin to a huge feline predator. Coated in deep golden fur etched with black tiger stripes.
It crushed the comrade's skull under a massive forepaw. Amber eyes gleamed vividly even in the dark woods, glaring at PS-005.
Unseen anywhere on this planet. But PS-005 knew what it was.
"77% match to Special Target C."
Not top priority like A, but C was still kill-on-sight.
Instead of engaging solo, PS-005 chose retreat. No guarantee of victory, and reporting to Pira Eleven came first.
It withdrew swiftly, reactivating comms with Pira Eleven. Legs churning, it prepped to transmit what it'd seen.
In its haste, it overlooked one thing: its sensors were tuned for projectiles, ignoring energy signatures.
Too late when purple heat beams lanced from the opposite trees.
｢I thought it was weird when the nest vanished so suddenly. Figures.｣
Sky Mother hadn't returned to the dragon's lair with Nell German. Ham Ort's wounds weren't fully healed, so they'd holed up in the Aimorph's nest.
A day's rest, and Ham Ort was nearly good as new. Two more days, then lair-bound—until the nest stopped expanding and began to wither.
She knew what decaying Aimorph nests meant.
From battling them before, she knew nests had limits. Exceed capacity, and the oldest auto-dissolves.
Seeing the black swamp in the small cave dry up, she realized: new nest installed. Tied to the Aimorph crew's crisis, too.
Morph Bark acted less human, more innate Aimorph. No way it'd spam nests carelessly.
Only one spot nearby for maxing out nests.
｢Daughter of the Stars... safe?｣
｢He'll be fine, I think. With Morph Bark... that black kin, he'll protect her for sure.｣
｢Understood.｣
She knew Aimorph nest power firsthand. Her clan once got wrecked in a similar pinch during the game.
Moving opposite the dragon's lair—stragglers, probably.
Back in griffon form, Sky Mother closed on the half-wrecked Screamer.
Ham Ort's wings weren't at full strength, so they'd flown slow—lucky break. Spotted the tree-lurking Screamers mid-flight to the nest.
She smashed the twitching head under her forepaw.
PS-111 flashbacks: Screamers dangerous even headless. Could flee alive or self-destruct for splash damage.
｢Crush their heads. They'll blow if not—watch it.｣
｢Got it.｣
Warning Ham Ort, Sky Mother retrieved the priest's golden spear from the tree. Gripping it in her beak, she mounted up.
｢I get the urge, but there might be more runners. Go slow, just a bit.｣
｢Will do.｣
Even as Ham Ort burst through branches into the sky, her amber eyes stayed fixed on the forest below.