The creatures surged as one.
Deformed, frog-like bodies hurled themselves forward in ugly, powerful arcs, mouths stretching wider as they closed the distance. Acidic saliva spilled from their throats, splattering against stone in sickly green streaks, the stench thick and swamp-born. They moved without coordination or caution, driven by instinct alone.
One reached him first.
It launched itself upward, jaws yawning open to swallow him whole.
Trafalgar met it head-on.
He twisted his hips and brought Maledicta up in a clean, rising cut, the blade carving through soft resistance with unsettling ease. The creature split from belly to crown, its viscous body peeling apart as if it had never been meant to hold shape. Glistening organs spilled outward, splattering across the platform and spraying against Trafalgar's clothes. The acid hissed faintly where it landed—but the fabric held.
He did not slow.
