The white star-fire beneath the barge churned into a boiling froth as dozens of segmented silhouettes broke through the surface. They rose from the molten depths like living chains of burning bronze. Sulfur-Drinking Centipedes, twenty to thirty meters in length, their multi-jointed legs clawing through the liquid fire with horrific speed.
Their back shells were formed from overlapping plates of crystal-hardened sulfur and magnetic ironstone. It glowed with an angry, acid-burning yellow soft glow. From their gaping, multi-tiered jaws, they vented high-pressure jets of boiling sulfuric acid that hissed furiously against Titus’s protective gravity ward.
“Over forty hostiles,” Arthur announced. His voice dropped into the cool, steady pace of emergency triage. “They’re attempting to encircle the barge and shear our gravity anchors. Titus, maintain forward driving force! Grimm, clear the port rail! Pip, provide aerial crushing weight!”
The lead centipede lunged from the white sea. Its massive armored head rose ten meters above the barge’s port gunwale. Its jaws snapped together with the force of high-pressure shears, aimed directly at Grimm’s throat.
Grimm didn’t back down an inch.
The dark hound took a single, explosive step forward, his black glass-coated fangs bared in a silent, terrifying snarl. The centipede’s head crossed the boundary of the barge’s deck. Then, Grimm let loose his Proto-Mythic mass spreading.
