The Blighted Forest’s surface was a world of shadow and decay, a stark contrast to the pulsating life of the Hive’s caverns below. Harach led his hunters through the dimly lit tunnel, their legs clicking softly against the stone. The faint sound of wind whispered through the passage, carrying the distant scent of the surface.

  Harach’s hunting party moved with practiced silence, their long limbs sleek and poised. Subtle vibrations passed between them as they communicated through faint clicks, the sounds rippling through the webbing that lined the walls. The air grew cooler as they ascended, the earthy warmth of the Hive giving way to the crisp, damp scent of the forest above. The fungal glow that lit their way dimmed, replaced by faint, greenish light filtering through cracks above.

  When they emerged, the contrast was stark. The air was sharp and heavy with the smell of damp moss and rotting wood. Above them, the canopy twisted into unnatural shapes, branches clawing at the sky. The ground was uneven, littered with rocky debris and sinkholes, a chaotic landscape compared to the orderly structure of the Hive.

  Harach signaled his hunters to spread out, their sleek forms blending seamlessly into the shadows. His eight eyes scanned the area, catching subtle movements and changes in the light. The forest’s sounds surrounded them—faint bubbling from muddy puddles, the distant caw of carrions, and the constant buzz of parasitic flies.

  Minutes stretched into uneasy silence as they advanced. Tension hung thick in the air, every step heavier than the last. Harach’s clawed hand brushed against a tree, his touch light but deliberate. He felt the rough bark beneath his fingers and the faint vibrations of movement nearby.

  Then, he saw it. At first, it was just a shadow among shadows, a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision. He froze, his appendages lifting slightly as he focused. A low growl rumbled through the air, soft but unmistakable.

  “Hold,” Harach clicked, a sharp pulse that stopped his hunters in their tracks. He crouched low, blending with the underbrush, and watched as the creature emerged.

  The Nightsabre stepped into the clearing with predatory grace, its black-greyish fur glinting faintly in the dim light. Its movements were deliberate, its head low and fangs bared. Harach could see the intelligence in its eyes, a cunning that made it more than just a beast.

  The Nightsabre was not alone. Behind it, a figure stepped out of the shadows, his presence sending a ripple of tension through the air. Clad in a patchwork of thick hide armor adorned with bone trinkets, the Beastmaster moved with the confidence of someone who had fought and survived the forest’s dangers. His whip hung loosely at his side, coiled and ready, and a jagged blade rested on his hip.

  The Beastmaster paused, his gaze sweeping over the clearing. One of his Nightsabres sniffed the air, growling in a communicative way. The Beastmaster seemed to understand instantly.

  “Spiders,” he spat, the word dripping with revulsion. He stepped forward, his boots crunching against the underbrush. “How many of you pests skitter in this forest?”

  Harach’s eyes narrowed. This was no random encounter. The Beastmaster’s tone carried the weight of familiarity, of previous clashes that had left him bitter and vengeful.

  The Beastmaster gestured sharply with his whip, and two more Nightsabres emerged from the shadows. Their movements were fluid and synchronized, circling the clearing with feline grace. He cracked his whip against a nearby tree, the sound echoing like a thunderclap. “Flush them out!”

  The Nightsabres responded immediately, their bodies low to the ground as they began to spread out, snouts scanning the underbrush for any scent trails. Harach felt a surge of predatory anticipation. His poison glands throbbed faintly, and his back appendages flexed their sharp tips like spearheads. He signaled his hunters with a sharp vibration, their forms disappearing further into the shadows. They would not be flushed out so easily.

  Harach watched the Beastmaster closely, his many eyes unblinking as he assessed the man’s movements. The Nightsabres, sleek and dangerous, prowled closer, their sharp claws digging into the mossy ground. The low growls emanating from their throats sent faint vibrations through the earth, echoing in the sensitive limbs of the patriarch and his hunters.

  The Beastmaster’s voice cut through the tension. “Come out, you skittering pests! Or should I burn this accursed forest to ash and smoke you out?” He smirked, the glint of arrogance in his eyes. “I know you’re watching, creeping in the shadows like cockroaches. Pathetic.”

  Harach remained still, his body low to the ground. The man’s bravado was evident, but beneath it, there was tension—an edge of caution in his footwork. This was not a man who acted carelessly. He had survived too long in the Blighted Forest to take anything lightly. Harach could feel it, the faint undercurrent of fear beneath the man’s bluster.

  The lead Nightsabre paused, its head snapping in Harach’s direction. It sniffed the air, wide nostrils flaring as it caught a faint trace of his scent. Its ears flattened, and a low growl rumbled from deep in its throat. The Beastmaster noticed the change immediately.

  “There you are,” he said softly, his grin widening. He gestured with his whip, and the Nightsabre advanced, its movements slow and deliberate.

  Harach let the Nightsabre close the distance, his form blending seamlessly with the forest floor. His hunters remained hidden, their sleek bodies pressed against the shadows of the undergrowth. They were patient, waiting for his signal.

  The Beastmaster’s eyes scanned the area, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “It doesn’t matter how many of you there are,” he muttered. “I’ve dealt with your kind before.” His whip lashed out suddenly, snapping against the bark of a nearby tree. The sound echoed, and the Nightsabres tensed, their muscles coiling in readiness.

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  Harach’s mandibles clicked softly, the sound barely audible but resonating through the forest floor. The hunters felt the signal, their bodies taut with anticipation.

  The lead Nightsabre took another step forward, its fangs bared and gleaming. Harach waited until it was within striking distance before he acted.

  In a blur of motion, one of his back appendages shot forward as he leapt from a rocky outcrop, the sharp tip piercing the air with a hiss. The Nightsabre reared back with a startled snarl, its claws swiping wildly as it stumbled away. The movement was so sudden that even the Beastmaster hesitated, his hand tightening around his whip.

  “Attack!” Harach’s vibrations echoed through the forest, and his hunters sprang into action. They burst from the shadows, their sleek forms darting toward the Nightsabres with uncanny speed.

  The Nightsabres snarled and lunged, their claws flashing as they met the hunters head-on. The spiders moved with precision, their movements coordinated and deliberate. One hunter feinted left, drawing the attention of a Nightsabre, while another darted in from the side, its sharp mandibles snapping at the beast’s flank. The Beastmaster cursed under his breath, his whip lashing out to keep the spiders at bay.

  Harach moved with calculated grace, his back appendages slicing through the air like scythes. He targeted the lead Nightsabre, his movements fluid and unrelenting. The beast snarled and lunged, its jaws snapping inches from his form, but Harach was faster. He ducked under its attack, his poison glands throbbing as he spat a jet of venom directly into its face.

  The venom struck the Nightsabre with a wet hiss, the beast’s pained howl splitting the air. It thrashed wildly, its claws raking the ground as its glowing eyes dulled under the venom’s relentless assault. Harach didn’t relent, his back appendages slashing down in brutal arcs, each strike carving through fur and flesh with surgical precision. The beast staggered, its lethal grace reduced to panicked spasms.

  The Beastmaster’s sneer faltered, his composure cracking as his lead predator collapsed into the moss with a final shudder. “Fall back, you idiot beast!” he barked, but his voice carried the edge of disbelief. His hand tightened around his blade, and with a crack of his whip, he redirected the remaining Nightsabres toward Harach.

  But Harach’s hunters swarmed the battlefield with relentless coordination. One of his kin leapt onto a Nightsabre’s back, its fanged mandibles piercing through sinew and spine in a savage bite. The beast screeched, trying to shake the spider free, but another hunter darted in low with its sharp leg appendage, tearing into its exposed belly. The Nightsabre snapped through its legs but was too late to save itself. Ichor and blood sprayed the forest floor, the metallic tang mixing with the pungent stench of venom.

  The Beastmaster cursed, his whip arcing through the air to fend off an advancing hunter. The crack was deafening, the leather snapping against the creature’s chitinous body with enough force to send it reeling. “You’ll need more than that!” he snarled, his blade flashing in the dim light as he sliced off a sudden thrust from another hunter’s sharp limb.

  Harach observed the man with cold intensity, his ruby-like eyes gleaming eerily. This one wasn’t like the irregular humanoids who had stumbled into the forest—he was disciplined. Dangerous. But that only made the hunt more thrilling.

  The Beastmaster pivoted, his blade carving a precise arc that caught one of Harach’s hunters mid-leap. The spider screeched, ichor spraying from its severed limb as it fell. “Is this all you have?” the man taunted, his voice sharp and edged with desperation. Yet his footing betrayed him—a slight misstep on the uneven forest floor, a moment’s hesitation as he glanced toward his faltering beasts.

  Harach seized the opportunity. He sprang forward with explosive speed from his hydraulic appendages, his frame a blur of sharp edges. His appendages slashed downward, forcing the Beastmaster to dive aside, the blade in his hand barely deflecting the strike. The man hit the ground hard, rolling to his feet, but Harach was already upon him.

  The patriarch’s mandibles clicked menacingly as he struck low, one clawed limb hooking the Beastmaster’s whip and yanking it from his grasp. “Youuu tressspassss, hiiive terrriitorryyy,” Harach spoke with some difficulty, his voice more like a low, reverberating growl.

  “Tch, you’re just a monster,” the man spat, drawing a dagger from his belt. He lunged, aiming for Harach’s vulnerable chest, but the patriarch twisted with unnerving grace, his appendages lashing out in a precise counterstrike. The dagger clattered to the ground as Harach’s claws raked across the man’s arm, drawing blood.

  The Beastmaster stumbled, clutching his wound. Behind him, the last of his Nightsabres let out a choked gurgle, its throat pierced by a hunter’s venomous fangs. The forest fell eerily silent, save for the faint rustling of foliage and the labored breathing of the wounded.

  Harach loomed over the man, his shadow swallowing him whole. “Youurr petss arre gonne. Dessspairr, Beasstmassterrr.”

  The Beastmaster glared up at him, defiance flickering in his eyes even as blood seeped through his fingers. “Kill me, then, spider,” he spat. “But you won’t stop the clan. We’ll conquer this forest and cleanse your kin.”

  Harach’s mandibles twitched, his gaze unyielding. “Noo cclann iss sstrronngg ennoughh. The hiiive willl feeasst onn themm.”

  With a swift, merciless motion, Harach’s venom glands pulsed, and a jet of toxin sprayed across the man’s face. The Beastmaster screamed, clutching at his eyes as the venom seared his flesh. He collapsed, writhing in the dirt, his cries echoing through the cursed woods.

  The patriarch turned to his hunters. “Strip his gear and bring it to my room. Store the body,” Harach commanded through a calm vibration.

  Two hunters scuttled forward, their movements swift and methodical as they disarmed the fallen man. His weapons and armor were stripped with care, the metallic pieces clinking softly as they were secured. Another hunter began wrapping the Beastmaster’s limp body in light strands of silk, the drag net forming for transport, though not a real cocoon like a worker would produce.

  Harach paused, his many eyes scanning the battlefield. The broken bodies of Nightsabres and severed limbs of his kin lay scattered across the mossy floor, ichor mixing with blood in a grotesque tapestry of conflict.

  Back within his web-laden chamber, Harach examined the spoils taken from the Beastmaster. The man's blade was finely crafted, its hilt etched with intricate symbols of beasts—a possible emblem of his clan. A whip with barbed tips, cruel in design, spoke of training through fear. Among the hide armor pieces, a chest piece bore a faint engraving: an elaborate glyph resembling 3 long fangs encircled by thorns. It was a mark Harach had seen only before, scrawled on encampments east of the forest nearby the mountain plains.

  He turned the whip over in his claws, his mandibles clicking softly in thought. "a Beastmaster clan," he muttered, his guttural tones barely a whisper. "They seek new dominion," his appendage ticked against the stone in wrath, "But we shall have theirs instead, we've grown large, stealth is becoming increasingly difficult, I shouldn't delay this until the wolf is at the door."