And worst of all—they never made a sound. No growls, no shrieks, no heavy footsteps. The only warning of a Skulker's presence was the sudden glint of a blade-like limb, a flash of motion in the corner of your vision—and then the sharp, searing pain of a wound you never saw coming.

The Howlers were terror given form, their presence heralded not by the flapping of wings or the rustling of movement, but by the bone-rattling wail that shattered the air before them. They were skyborne predators, lurking in the planet's twilight skies like living specters, their forms blending with the dim light until it was too late.

Their bodies were grotesquely elongated, built for speed and predation, covered in dark, membranous flesh stretched tight over a skeletal frame. Their wings were vast and bat-like, but with an unnatural, jagged quality, their thin membranes pulsing with vein-like bioelectric currents that crackled in the night. These wings weren't just for flight—they could also vibrate at ultrasonic frequencies, amplifying their already devastating screams.

Their heads were the stuff of nightmares—elongated, almost skull-like, with a sharp, pronounced snout ending in a jagged maw. Their mouths split too far back, revealing rows upon rows of needle-thin fangs, each one vibrating subtly as they let out their signature piercing shrieks. Instead of normal eyes, they had clusters of bio-luminescent pits running down their faces, heat-sensitive and capable of locking onto movement like sonar pings in total darkness.

But the true horror of the Howlers lay in their sonic weaponry. Their screams weren't just loud—they were designed to disorient, incapacitate, and even kill. At lower frequencies, their wails disrupted neural implants, causing malfunctions, system crashes, or even inducing seizures in cybernetically augmented individuals. At higher intensities, their shrieks could rupture eardrums, shatter reinforced glass, and send waves of agony through the nervous system, leaving victims paralyzed with vertigo and nausea.

And they didn't just scream in one tone—each Howler was attuned to a different frequency, meaning that in a swarm, their cries could overlap in a horrific, layered symphony that scrambled sensory perception and made counterattacks nearly impossible.

Their talons were wicked, curved scythes, dripping with paralytic neurotoxins that acted within seconds of a scratch. One swipe could leave a victim paralyzed mid-motion, fully aware yet unable to move, trapped in their own body as the Howlers circled back to finish the kill.

They attacked in rapid, coordinated strikes, descending from the skies in eerie synchrony, their wings slicing through the air without a sound—until they shrieked. Their movements were so swift and unpredictable that targeting them was a nightmare, forcing defenders to rely on tracking systems that struggled to keep up with their erratic flight patterns.

And the worst part?

When they weren't attacking, they mimicked sounds they had heard before—the cries of their dying prey, the desperate shouts of soldiers calling for help, even the mechanical alerts of malfunctioning weapons. They weaponized deception, leading their victims deeper into confusion, panic, and inevitable doom.

The Leviathan was less a creature and more a walking apocalypse, a colossal force of destruction that defied nature itself. Towering over the battlefield, its monolithic frame cast a shadow that swallowed entire sections of the base in darkness. Its very presence was felt before it was seen, the ground trembling under the weight of its six titanic, multi-jointed legs, each one ending in razor-edged, obsidian-like claws capable of piercing reinforced steel and pulverizing rock with a single step.

Its exoskeleton was a shifting, semi-organic mass of black, crystalline plates, interlocked in a way that made it appear like a living fortress of obsidian and molten glass. The plates didn't just protect the Leviathan—they absorbed energy attacks, drinking in laser fire and plasma rounds like a void siphoning light. As energy-based weapons struck its body, the plates would ripple and shimmer, the absorbed force redirecting along the length of its armored hide before being discharged in a violent backlash of searing heat and kinetic force.

Its head was a nightmarish construct of jagged ridges and glowing fissures, its mouth a yawning cavern lined with serrated, shifting mandibles, each coated in a corrosive, bio-reactive sludge capable of melting through metal like acid. Rows of glowing, ember-like eyes were scattered across its face and body, some clustered like a spider's, others hidden within the shifting layers of its armor, allowing it to see across multiple spectrums—infrared, ultraviolet, and even electromagnetic fields.

Along its spinal ridge, pulsating spines of crackling dark energy jutted from its back, rising and falling like living obelisks. These spines weren't just ornamental—they were conductors of raw energy, allowing the Leviathan to generate pulses of electromagnetic disruption, short-circuiting drones, turrets, and cybernetic enhancements within a wide radius.

When it moved, it was not a simple stomp-and-crush beast. The Leviathan's six legs worked in eerie synchronization, allowing it to pivot, twist, and even lurch forward with terrifying speed despite its massive size. Every movement was calculated, every step taken with deliberate force, ensuring that nothing in its path survived unscathed.

It didn't just attack with brute strength—it adapted, learning from its enemies. If projectiles were fired, it would raise its reinforced forelegs, using them like towering shields. If an energy attack struck, its plates would reconfigure, directing the absorbed force back at the attackers in a pulse of kinetic devastation.

And then there was its true weapon—its maelstrom core.

At the center of its chest, just beneath the thickest layers of armor, a seething vortex of unstable energy pulsed like a dying star, distorting the very air around it. This maelstrom core acted as a gravitational weapon, capable of unleashing waves of compressed force that could send tanks flipping through the air, crumple reinforced barriers like paper, and shatter bones within armor without even making direct contact.

And when it roared—when it truly roared—it was like the sky itself splitting apart, a deep, resonant tremor that rattled skulls and sent shockwaves through the battlefield. It was not just a creature—it was the embodiment of an extinction event, and it had set its glowing, ember-like gaze upon the base with hunger and inevitability.

The defensive automated turrets came online immediately, their railguns spinning to life as targeting systems locked onto the swarm. Drones armed with plasma rounds surged into the air, moving in precise formations to pick off the aerial threats before they could reach the walls.

The base's energy barriers activated, pulsing with a blue glow as shockwave emitters prepared to send out kinetic blasts to repel the charging hordes. But there were too many—if they got too close, the fight would be on the ground.

Lucy and Ethel stood on the front lines, weapons in hand, eyes locked on the swarm.

The sky erupted in a deafening roar as the monster horde crashed into the base. Ravagers, massive hulking beasts with armored hides and bone-shattering claws, breached the energy shield with a ferocity that shook the ground beneath their feet. Their hulking bodies slammed into the barrier, their claws scraping against the surface in a desperate attempt to tear through. With a crack of blinding blue light, the shield fractured, and the first Ravager barreled through, sending shockwaves across the battlefield.

Lucy was first to engage, moving with the lethal grace of a trained fighter. Her plasma glaive hummed with crackling energy, its blade glowing with an eerie blue light as she gripped it tightly, her muscles coiled in anticipation. Without hesitation, she charged forward, the superheated blade cutting through the air like a scythe.

The first Ravager, a colossal beast with dark, jagged armor plating, lunged at her with clawed fists that could crush metal. Lucy's glaive whistled through the air, its razor-sharp edge slicing clean through the creature's thick armor. Blue ichor sprayed from the wound, but Lucy didn't slow down—she wasn't here to make a quick kill, she was here to end the threat.

With a burst of speed, her enhanced boots propelled her off the ground in a sudden arc, her body twisting mid-air like a dancer as she flipped over the Ravager, her glaive coming down with all the power of her enhanced muscles. The blade struck with pinpoint accuracy, cleaving through its skull in a single fluid motion. The Ravager crumpled to the ground, its massive form twitching in its final death throes.

Before Lucy's feet even touched the ground, a second Ravager surged from the chaos, its serrated tail whipping toward her exposed back. Lucy's instincts kicked in, her senses honed by countless battles, and she dropped into a low crouch, the tail whipping over her head, narrowly missing her.

In a seamless flow of motion, she slid between the Ravager's legs, her glaive flashing upward with surgical precision. One of its hind legs fell away with a sickening thud, the creature's screech of agony echoing through the battlefield. It collapsed forward, trying to regain its balance, but Lucy was already upon it. With a swift twist, she plunged the glaive deep into its throat, the plasma blade cutting through flesh, bone, and sinew in an instant. The Ravager's struggles were short-lived as its body went limp beneath her.

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