Cain's shots were rhythmic, steady, and devoid of spectacle. No explosions, nor flares, it was just a constant, sharp whisper of spiked pellets slipping through the conjuring fast in midair.
He wasn't aiming to destroy the eyes anymore.
Instead, he loaded the bullets with enough force to embed but not rupture, disrupting feedback without triggering panic in the centivine.
A delicate work of subtle sabotage.
Around him, the team held formation, though their silhouettes were fraying at the edges.
Some armor plates had started to dent inward, while others were cracked, streaked with damage from unevaded lashings.
"Steady now, we're almost there."
Cain urged them, but no one spoke nor dared to.
Their dry lips and the faint steam rising from their suit vents said enough.
They were in deep concentration, fully aware that not even an hour had passed.
But Cain's steady, commanding voice gave them the assurance that everything was under control.
The Centivine wasn't moving from its spot.
It wasn't more accurate, its violence had sharpened.
Every lash struck like a collapsing tree, each whip cracking with enough force to shatter ribs through light armor.
Its attacks came faster now. Not just doubled, but tripled, maybe worse.
A blur of strikes, relentless and wild.
But Cain didn't flinch.
His pistols pulsed like a heartbeat.
Ten shots per second, each one placed with intent.
He could push for more, however stability mattered more than speed.
His rhythm held steady, his gaze locked on the target, calculating, adjusting, never wavering.
That rhythm pressed into their minds like a second heartbeat. No one wanted to disrupt it. No one wanted to be the weak link.
But Cain couldn't afford to ignore the cracks. A leader had to see who was slipping, even if they weren't saying it.
Cain knew better than to press them too hard with words, not in the middle of this.
They were holding the line, each one locked in a vicious dance with vines that cracked stone and split metal.
Calling them out individually would only isolate them.
So he did the next best thing. He coughed once into the comms, it was a check-in.
A silent reminder that he was watching.
"Status check. Report in gear integrity."
The replies came in through the haze of effort and adrenaline, each voice tinged with grit.
Fara's tone was sharp and unshaken.
"Still alright, armor integrity at 100%."
Cain could see her pivoting between blows, the thud of vine against open air just inches from her face.
Her martial art wasn't the flashy kind, it was all flow and redirection, precise palm strikes and fingertip flicks that turned force against itself.
She made it look easy, like the vines were dancing around her on purpose.
Ricky and Tol were slower to answer. Their breaths were audible through the mic, not panicked but strained.
"Ricky in, mine's holding at 52%, but I'm bleeding under it. My left shoulder's numb but I can swing an hour more."
Tol's voice followed, a little clipped.
"Spear's getting hot. Armor's intact at about 82%."
Neither of them sounded weak but Cain could hear the edge in their fatigue.
They were human like him, they had no bloodline strength, just genetic amplification, and hardened training with a will to follow orders.
Beany, on the other hand, responded with near indifference.
Her barriers rose and fell like a tide, always where they needed to be, never wasting a single breath of energy.
"All systems green at 100%. Casting smooth."
Despite her soft exterior and voluptious frame, Cain knew demonic blood what coursed through her.
She was part-demon, and the breed was built for endurance.
Sweat beaded on her temple, sure, but her mana control was uperterbed and flawless.
"Pu-pumbo, armor integrity at uhm... 78%."
His voice was low, still shy but resolved to see it to the end.
Half-beast, half-man, Pumbo had no subtlety, but he didn't need it. His strikes were blunt, brutal, and relentless.
Every time the vine tried grabbing his sield, it was like slamming a wall into a freight train.
Cain listened intently, counting each voice and weighing each breath.
He had been calculating the rhythm of the fight, estimating they could wrap things up in half an hour at best.
Maybe less if the centivine fully committed on anchoring its roots on the ground.
His mind was already shifting to extraction and preservation logistics, thinking ahead.
But then his terminal pinged, a high-pitched and rapid, the unmistakable alert of a perimeter breach.
A wasp drone, previously circling the outer edge, had picked something up.
He scanned the feed, then his stomach turned.
Red-skinned orcs. Almost a hundred of them.
Two meters tall, muscle-bound and clad in mismatched metal armor.
They ran low to the ground, their speed unnatural, their mana signatures volatile and spiking with each bound across the terrain.
Cain's jaw tightened. These weren't hunters or opportunists. They were a small part of a much larger force. Maybe a forward scout, searching for supplies or testing the terrain for strategic value.
He stepped back from the core of the fight, just far enough for a quick regroup.
"Start distancing yourselves from the blight centivine."
He spoke over comms, voice even but tight, and though it confused his teammates, they followed without question.
The footage sharpened with proximity, these orcs didn't recognize any peace treaty.
There were factions who had chosen conquest over negotiation. Groups that didn't care about shared resources or hunting etiquette.
These guys would kill anyone on sight.
He froze for a moment, staring at the screen longer than necessary.
His silence filtered back through the channel, and it said enough. His teammates inched away faster, eyes flicking toward his next action.
When he spoke again, there was no anger in his tone, it was replaced with indignance that burned through like heat behind steel.
"We're pulling back. Gorge's edge, two klicks northwest. Now."
No one argued, but the looks on their faces twisted the same way.
That bitter, stinging frustration of working for nothing.
Giving everything you had, only for someone else to swoop in and claim the reward.
Ricky couldn't hold it in. Doubt clawed at him, he thought maybe Cain was still too young, too cautious, too willing to play it safe when the moment called for risk.
"Lobby Commander... How... How many?"
"I've got visual on about sixty so far. More are on the way."
"Goddamn it all!"
Tol hissed in frustration, her scowl deep and unfiltered. Even the usually reserved Beany gritted her teeth, her palms trembling just slightly.
The tigress Fara let out a growl to vent out her hatred.
As they retreated, Cain didn't bother retrieving his traps.
Instead, he was laying more.
There were at least ten static traps in their retreat path. Cain made sure they saw them, just so no one would step on one accidentally.
Ricky glanced back and caught sight of Cain's work. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
Tol chuckled low. Pumbo's chest rumbled with something between amusement and challenge. Even Beany cracked a sinister grin.
They were young, they were bleeding But damn it, they weren't out just yet.