The battlefield full of chaos. The Sand Hydra, a monstrosity of the dunes, lashed out in fury, its massive, sinuous body twisting like a mountain of flesh and scales. Its twelve heads, each bearing a crown of bone and dagger-like fangs, struck in every direction, swallowing warriors whole and crushing others between its jaws.
Yet the Sand Surfers did not falter. They moved like shadows, weaving through the Hydra's deadly strikes with supernatural agility. They weren't soldiers; they were hunters.
Ra'Zir al-Sol, the Jackal King, led the charge. His massive jackal-like form bounded forward, claws carving deep trenches into the sand. He leaped onto the Hydra's nearest leg, his fangs sinking into its tendon, ripping through the thick, armor-plated skin with the force of a starving beast.
The Hydra shrieked, its body jerking violently, but Ra'Zir held firm, his golden eyes flashing with triumph. "Big bastard bleeds!" he snarled, spitting out chunks of muscle. "Take it down, brothers!"
Above him, Ismara the Veil moved like smoke. She vanished in a blur, her spectral, wolf-like form appearing on the Hydra's back before it could react. With twin curved daggers, she stabbed into the beast's spine, twisting the blades deep into its nerve clusters.
The Hydra let out a thunderous, agonized wail, its massive body convulsing as pain shot through it.
Ismara grinned. "So much meat," she cooed, licking Hydra's blackened blood off her blade. "Let's carve it properly."
Vekram the Stormcaller, the Hyena-Beast, didn't wait. His crazed laughter rang across the battlefield as he lunged for one of the Hydra's heads, his fangs clamping onto its snout. Sparks of blue energy crackled across his body, surging into the Hydra's flesh, forcing its head into violent spasms.
The beast howled in agony, its jaw snapping wildly, unable to control its own movements. Vekram, eyes glowing with manic glee, dug his claws in deeper. "Scream for me, you ugly whore!" he cackled. "Sing me the song of your suffering!"
The Hydra screamed. Dhalmok the Black Brand, the rune-marked mastiff, was slower than the others, but his power was unmatched.
He stood his ground as two Hydra heads lunged toward him, their maws wide, ready to tear him in half. But Dhalmok did not move.
Instead, the runes covering his body ignited, glowing a fiery crimson as he planted his feet into the sand. The moment the heads struck—BOOM!
A shockwave of force erupted from his body, shattering the Hydra's fangs and blowing the beast backward. Its heads recoiled, hissing in pain, as Dhalmok casually stepped forward.
"Come," he growled, rolling his massive shoulders. "I will break every bone in your body."
With one monstrous leap, he grabbed the nearest Hydra neck with both arms and began to squeeze.
The Hydra's scales cracked. It thrashed desperately, but Dhalmok held firm, tightening his grip like a living vice. The Hydra gurgled, its breath turning ragged until finally, with a sickening CRACK, the neck snapped.
A head fell lifeless to the ground. The battlefield went silent for a moment. Then, the Hydra's remaining heads roared in fury.
The Hydra wasn't done. For every head it lost, two more took its place. Boris, still locked in his Iron Vein form, watched from a distance, his breath heavy. He had fought this thing for hours, and yet the mutant poachers had done more damage in mere minutes than his army had the entire night. But now?
Now, they were in trouble. With each severed head, the Hydra grew more monstrous, its regeneration growing faster, its rage intensifying. Its no longer fighting. Its rampaging.
It reared up on its massive legs, its colossal form blotting out the moonlight, before slamming its entire weight into the sand.
The shockwave threw warriors like ragdolls—mutants and humans alike were sent tumbling across the dunes, their bodies breaking upon impact.
Ra'Zir barely managed to dodge, rolling onto his feet, his golden eyes narrowing.
"We cut too much," he muttered, spitting blood. "It's adapting faster."
Ismara, panting heavily, sneered.
"No shit, genius."
Vekram, still laughing despite his wounds, clutched his shattered ribs.
"I don't care," he grinned, blood dripping from his fanged mouth. "I want to see what happens when it's really angry."
Dhalmok, his runes dimming from overuse, gritted his teeth.
"We kill it now, or we die."
Boris stood on the edge of the battlefield, watching the chaos unfold. His body screamed in exhaustion, his Iron Vein form weakening, but he knew one thing: If the Hydra wasn't stopped now, it would destroy them all. They were powerful, but they didn't care about stopping it. They only cared about capturing it.
So, with the last of his strength, Boris raised his massive axe and let out a roar:
"ENOUGH! I END THIS NOW!"
His warriors, battered and broken, looked up. The Sand Surfers, mid-attack, paused. The Hydra, in its infinite rage, snapped all of its heads toward him. And Boris, with the last remnants of his power, charged straight into the monster's maw.
The battlefield turns into a storm of blood and sand, howling winds carrying the roars of warriors and the nightmarish screeches of the Hydra. Boris, in his Iron Vein form, stood with his great axe, his breath ragged but his determination unbroken. Around him, the Sand Surfers moved in a deadly dance, their monstrous canine forms weaving through the dunes, snapping jaws and slashing claws tearing at the Hydra's many limbs.
The beast itself was a nightmare of shifting sand-colored scales, its many heads writhing like living whips. Each time one head was severed, two more erupted from the stump, their eyes burning with an unnatural hunger. It was a creature that refused to die, an abomination that had outlived countless warriors before them.
Captain Ra'Zir, the largest of the Sand Surfers, was the first to leap onto the Hydra's back, his monstrous form digging claws into its hide. His jaws clamped down on one of the beast's necks, but the Hydra thrashed violently, flinging him into the air like a ragdoll. He landed hard, coughing up blood but grinning like a madman.
"HAH! This beast's got a spine! Let's see how long it lasts!" he bellowed, wiping his mouth before charging again.
Boris wasted no time. With a roar, he hurled his massive axe into one of the Hydra's throats, severing it completely. Black ichor gushed from the wound, steaming as it met the sand. But as expected, the flesh began to writhe and pulse—two new heads burst forth with a deafening screech.
The Sand Surfers snarled in frustration. Ismara, the fastest of them, darted through the battlefield, her twin daggers flashing. She moved with blinding speed, carving deep gouges into the Hydra's flanks before flipping away just before its snapping jaws could catch her.
"This isn't working!" she growled. "We cut one down, two more rise! There has to be a way to stop its regeneration!"
Boris, still gripping his weapon, narrowed his glowing eyes as he watched the severed heads sprout. He clenched his jaw, then turned to Ra'Zir.
"Fire," he muttered.
Ra'Zir grinned. "Ahhh... I see where you're going with this."
Boris bellowed, "SAND SURFERS! BRING THE FLAME!"
The warriors howled, their canine-like voices mixing with the desert winds. From their ships, barrels of alchemical fire were rolled onto the dunes. The Sand Surfers fought like demons possessed, cutting into the Hydra's flanks to drive it toward the fire.
Ismara, lean but vicious warrior, leaped onto the Hydra's back, his claws digging deep. With a savage growl, she tore at its flesh, exposing raw muscle beneath its scales. "BURN IT NOW!" she howled.
The Sand Surfers hurled firebombs onto the exposed flesh. The moment the alchemical fire touched the Hydra's wounds, an unholy shriek tore through the night. The flames ate away at the flesh like acid, preventing the creature from regenerating.
Boris wasted no time. With a battle cry, he drove his axe into the Hydra's main body, splitting its ribcage open. He reached deep, grabbing hold of its still-beating heart.
With monstrous strength, Boris tore the heart from the Hydra's chest. The beast convulsed violently, its remaining heads screeching in agony before finally collapsing into the dunes, its body twitching in its death throes. The ground trembled as the legendary predator was finally slain.
The battlefield went silent. Sand Surfers panted, their forms shifting back to their human shapes, their bodies drenched in sweat and blood. Boris, still in his IronVein form, towered over the corpse of the beast, his glowing eyes locked onto the ruined carcass.
Ra'Zir wiped the blood from his jaw and smirked. "Well, Iron Foot... that was one hell of a fight."
Boris turned his gaze to him, still gripping the Hydra'sheart, its black blood dripping down his fingers. "...You and your men fight well," he admitted, his voice rough.
The SandSurfers and the IronFoot warriors exchanged weary glances. Then, Boris caught the Hydra tooth midair, his iron-clad fingers clenching around it. The massive fang was still warm, pulsing with the remnants of the beast's unholy energy. He stared at it for a moment, his breathing still ragged from the battle, then let out a low chuckle.
Ra'Zir, the cunning first-in-command of the Sand Surfers, smirked. "Proof that you're still breathing, Iron Foot. Most men would be rotting in the sand by now."
Boris exhaled sharply, rolling the tooth between his fingers before tucking it into his belt. "Took more than that beast to kill me."
The Sand Surfers erupted into laughter, some still in their monstrous canine forms, their blood-streaked fur glistening under the desertmoon.
Ra'Zir turned, raising a clawed hand toward the dunes where their sand-gliding ships rested. "HAUL THE BEAST!" he barked.
The Sand Surfers moved like a well-trained pack, their lesser ships—great sand-skimmers with reinforced hulls and curved, fin-like rudders that cut through the dunes as if they were waves—lurched forward as thick chains were secured around the Hydra's massive carcass.
The warriors howled in celebration, the echoes of their victory rolling across the desert. Boris, still standing atop the beast's corpse, watched as the ships began their slow, steady march, dragging the fallen titan across the dunes like a great trophy.
He allowed himself one last look at the bloodied battlefield, his fingers still clutching the Hydra's tooth.
A victory hard-earned. A battle he shouldn't have survived. After that, Boris slumped down onto the sand, his body aching from wounds both fresh and old. His fingers traced over the deep gouges in his armor, the once-impenetrable iron now marred with claw marks and venom burns. He let out a low, bitter chuckle, watching as the SandSurfers howled in triumph, securing the Hydra's carcass like hungry jackals stripping a lion's kill.
"If those mongrels hadn't shown up…" he muttered under his breath, gripping the Hydra's tooth in his palm until his knuckles turned white. "I'd be rotting in this damn desert."
The truth gnawed at him, as sharp as any blade—he hadn't won. Not alone. The Sand Surfers had swooped in at the perfect moment, slaying the beast when he had nothing left to give.
But their victory felt like theft. "Scavengers," he spat, watching them laugh as they fastened chains around the Hydra's limbs. "Poachers. They let others bleed, then swoop in to take the glory. Lap dogs, the lot of them."
His men, though victorious, cast uneasy glances at their king. They knew Boris well enough to recognize the storm brewing behind his eyes. Gratitude was a foreign thing to him. To owe his life to anyone—least of all a band of opportunistic pirates—soured the taste of victory in his mouth.
He exhaled through his nose, watching Ra'Zir bark orders, his canine-like face twisted in amusement as if he already knew what Boris was thinking.
Boris clenched his jaw, his pride warring with his exhaustion. For now, they had won. But the Iron Foot didn't share victories.
One of Boris' men, a grizzled warrior with a scar running down his cheek, approached hesitantly. The others lingered back, unsure whether to disturb their king in his moment of brooding. The man cleared his throat before speaking. "My king… are you alright?"
For a moment, Boris didn't answer. He simply stared at the blood-soaked sand, where pieces of the Hydra's flesh still steamed in the desert. His fingers traced the deep cracks in his armor, reminders of how close he had come to death. Then, slowly, he looked up.
A grin stretched across his face, but it was not a grin of triumph. It was something colder, something edged with bitterness.
"If you ask about my body," Boris said, rolling his stiff shoulders, "then yes, I am fine." His golden eyes gleamed under his thick brow, sharp as a predator's. "But if you ask about my dignity…" He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "That, I fear, is bleeding out on this cursed sand."
The warrior shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the Sand Surfers, who were still busy fastening their chains to the Hydra's massive corpse. They cheered and laughed, their victory at Boris' expense clear to everyone.
Boris let out a slow exhale and rose to his feet, towering over his soldier. His voice lowered, a dangerous edge creeping into it.
"I have no patience for scavengers who steal from warriors," he muttered. "And I do not forget debts."
His men nodded, understanding the unspoken promise in his words. Today, Boris had needed them.