At the bark of a command, soldiers swarmed the transport truck.

Rifles raised, they swept their muzzles over the recruits huddled in the back, fingers resting heavy on triggers. The message was clear: move or die. One soldier stepped forward, keys jingling, and unlocked the heavy chains securing the tailgate.

Captain Sterling strode into view, his face a mask of grim determination.

“Disembark! Now! Stop screwing around!”

Like ducks being herded to slaughter, the recruits stumbled off the truck bed and onto the rough grit of the wasteland.

A small pickup truck roared up to the confused crowd, kicking up dust before screeching to a halt. A soldier hopped out and yanked back the heavy canvas tarpaulin covering the bed.

The moment the tarp flew back, a thick, copper stench of dried blood assaulted Jax’s nose.

Clang.

The tailgate slammed down. Jax peered inside and saw dark, flaky stains trailing down the metal bed. Piled high within were not firearms, but a chaotic heap of cold steel—rusted machetes, dented clubs, and long iron pipes.

The Vanguard recruits stared at the pile, their blood running cold.

“What is this joke?” one man shouted, his voice cracking. “You’re giving us these fire pokers to fight insectoids? You really just see us as cannon fodder!”

“Bullshit! This is a death sentence!” another screamed. “Who the hell would agree to this? We don’t have guns! You expect us to fight those things in melee range?”

“Where are the rifles? I saw the other truck! It was loaded with crates of ammo! Give us the real weapons!”

The crowd erupted into chaos. Men shouted and cursed, refusing to step forward and claim the scrap metal.

They weren’t stupid. These rusty tools were only good for hand-to-hand combat. Against the unknown horrors of the wasteland, charging in with a pipe was basically suicide.

Captain Sterling didn’t argue. He didn’t explain. He simply raised his rifle and fired a burst directly into the mob.

Thump-thump-thump.

Three distinct shots cut through the shouting. Three bodies crumpled to the sand, their faces frozen in expressions of shock and regret.

Silence descended instantly.

Sterling lowered the barrel, his eyes sweeping over the survivors with cold indifference. “I don’t recall inviting questions. You don’t have to take the weapons. But if you don’t, you’re going out there empty-handed. You have thirty seconds.”

He checked the tactical watch on his wrist, his voice monotone.

“Mark. Fifteen forty-seven. Three seconds. Four seconds… Alright, you have twenty seconds remaining.”

Jax didn’t hesitate. He stepped over a cooling corpse and grabbed a long-handled iron sledgehammer from the pile.

He ignored the blades. Against the chitinous armor of the insectoids, a dull edge was useless. Blunt force trauma was king. These creatures had primitive nervous systems; they didn’t rely on pain to stop them. You had to crush them physically to put them down.

Seeing Jax move, the hesitation in the crowd broke. The others scrambled forward, fighting to grab whatever weapon looked least broken.

Sterling nodded, his eyes lingering on Jax. “Good. A wise man submits to circumstances. You’re smart. Move out! Follow me!”

The Vanguard trailed Sterling toward the defensive line.

Ahead, the landscape was marred by the alien architecture of the Hive Spires. They jutted from the earth like diseased teeth—gray, porous columns ranging from eight inches to over three feet in height.

Jax gripped the iron handle of his hammer until his knuckles turned white, his eyes scanning the valley floor.

To his left was a gentle slope of soft sand. Terrible footing. No cover. A killing ground.

To his right, about a hundred yards away, a massive boulder jutted from the cliff face. It stood roughly seven feet high—a solid, defensible position embedded in the rock wall.

Jax’s gaze lingered on that rock.

To get there, he’d have to sprint through the densest cluster of Hive Spires. That was where the swarm would be thickest. But if he could reach it…

He made his decision.

Heavy breathing filled the air around him. The men were hyperventilating. In the distance, the Hive Spires began to crumble as the Rodent-Maw Creepers breached the surface.

The Vanguard was holding the line about a hundred yards out. A human could sprint that in ten to fifteen seconds.

The Creepers weren’t faster than a sprinting man, but they had numbers. They would close the gap in twenty seconds, tops.

“Alright! Cease fire!” Sterling roared from the rear. “Rifle team, fall back! Vanguard, front and center!”

The disciplined gunfire of the soldiers cut out instantly. The sudden silence was filled by a terrifying sound—the dry, rhythmic skritch-skritch of thousands of insect legs scurrying over sand.

A sharp, ammonia scent drifted through the air. Jax turned to see Finch trembling violently, shaking like chaff in the wind. A dark stain was spreading down the man’s trousers, pooling in the yellow sand at his feet.

Jax looked at the puddle, then at Finch’s pale face. Did this guy actually kill three people?

A few two-foot-long bugs had turned him into a watering can. The three people Finch killed must have either been the unluckiest bastards on Earth or actively trying to die.

The swarm was twenty yards away now. The rot-stench of the Creepers washed over them, a mix of decay and musk.

“Kill them!”

Someone screamed the order. The line broke, and the Vanguard surged forward in a chaotic, desperate wave.

Jax watched them run, stunned by the stupidity. No formation. No plan. Just a mob running into a meat grinder.

Damn it. What is this, a suicide pact? Rushing in like that is just feeding them kills.

It all made sense now—the sky-high mortality rate of the Vanguard. It wasn’t just the lack of guns. It was the complete lack of training and the utter incompetence of the command structure.

A cold metallic click sounded behind him.

“If you don’t feel like charging,” Sterling’s voice was ice, “I can provide some motivation.”

Jax glanced back. Sterling had disengaged the safety on his pistol, the barrel leveled at Jax’s spine.

Motherfucker. They rush because these overseers give them no choice.

Jax swallowed his curse and bolted.

He didn’t follow the mob. He broke right, sprinting toward the densest part of the swarm. It looked suicidal, but it was the straightest line to the seven-foot boulder.

If he could climb that rock, he’d be out of standard biting range. Sure, the Creepers could jump, but hitting a target seven feet up required a clean arc. Jax was confident he could play Whac-A-Mole and smash them out of the air before they landed.

The only variable was Sterling. Once Jax was safe on the rock, would the bastard order him down just to prove a point?

Screw it. Survival first.

Jax hit the front line. A dozen Rodent-Maw Creepers lunged at him, mandibles clicking.

He didn’t slow down. He swung the heavy sledgehammer in a brutal, horizontal arc.

CRUNCH.

The impact vibrated up his arms. A Creeper exploded mid-air, its carapace shattering under the weight of the iron head. Green ichor sprayed across Jax’s chest, reeking of acid and rot.

He didn’t stop to wipe it off. He pivoted, using the momentum of the first swing to drive the hammer into the gut of a second Creeper.

The iron head buried itself in the creature’s soft underbelly. Jax ripped the weapon back, tearing a massive gash in the insectoid’s abdomen. Viscera spilled onto the sand, but the thing was relentless. Thrashing, it snapped its jaws at Jax’s shin.

“You want a piece of me? Die!”

Jax brought the hammer down overhead, flattening the creature’s skull into the dirt.

Suddenly, a transparent blue window flashed in his peripheral vision.

[System Mission Alert]

Objective: Kill 30 Rodent-Maw Creepers.

Time Limit: 1 Hour.

Reward: Flux Stone x1.

Failure Penalty: Current EXP Cleared to 0.

Jax blinked, stunned for a microsecond, before instinct took over. A third Creeper lunged for his thigh. He shortened his grip and smashed the hammer down, crushing its spine.

Three down.

He looked at the broken insectoid bodies at his feet and felt a surge of adrenaline.

He didn’t linger. Capitalizing on the gap he’d created, he sprinted toward the safety of the boulder.

In the distance, Captain Sterling lowered his binoculars. He had been watching the slaughter, expecting the new recruits to be overrun instantly.

“That one…” The woman standing next to Sterling gasped, pointing. “He’s actually holding his own. He took down three of them in seconds.”