LIEUTENANT RIO’S POV
80
<b>55 </b>vouchers
“The reason why these people dare to attack us is because of their poison,” Rio hissed through clenched teeth as he eyed the wounded men that they had overnight. “Make sure everyone stays alert and careful.”
Their warriors had survived countless battles, their bodies toughened and hardened by endless confrontations with ws, des, and brute strength. They had faced near–death experiences, but poison was an entirely different threat, a threat far more insidious, deceptive, and lethal.
The Demon Fangs relied heavily on their toxic arsenal, crafting poisons so varied it was impossible to predict their effects.
Rio had personally seen its devastating range firsthand. Some poisons caused violent spasms, forcing warriors into convulsions, rendering them helpless. Others worked silently<i>, </i>gradually weakening the victim until paralysis set in, leaving them vulnerable and unable to defend themselves.
Some toxins were swift and merciless, stopping the heart within seconds, while others cruelly prolonged agony, causing internal bleeding, burning lungs, and relentless, unbearable pain.
Lieutenant Rio moved with heavy strides across the battered camp, his boots sloshing through mud thick as paste. Smoke still clung to the air from torches that had burned through the night. The rain had lessened, but the ground bore the punishment, deep tracks cut through the terrain, blood mixed with water, and bodiesy scattered beneath makeshift coverings. Groans echoed in the background, some low and weak, others sharp with pain.
He passed by three warriors huddled under a soaked tarp, one of them barely conscious, his veins turning ck beneath the skin. The healers worked fast, but even their best efforts could only do <i>so </i>much.
Rio crouched beside a fallen soldier, inspected the color of the man’s lips and the trembling in his limbs. He wasn’t going tost long without proper antidotes. None of them would, not if this poison spread further.
That was when he spotted Mendez.
The older man had rolled up his sleeves, arms streaked with blood and mud as he knelt beside a young warrior. His hands moved quickly, wiping sweat from the boy’s brow while checking his pulse. Several makeshift herbal concoctions were lined up beside him, but even those didn’t carry the certainty Mendez normally held.
“They used something different this time.” Mendez said without looking up, his tone grim.
“Just as we expected… but worse.”
Rio stepped closer. “Worse how?”
<b>80 </b>
55 vouchers
Mendez finally looked at him, dark circles under his eyes and jaw set tight. “It’s more potent. The moment they inhale it, it starts breaking down the nervous system. Internal bleeding, paralysis, organ copse. We’ve seen pieces of this type before but this specificbination? It’s notmon.”
Rio’s brows furrowed. “Have you seen this before?”
“Not in years,” Mendez admitted. “Deep in the West. I encountered a version of this once, poisons crafted by witches. Their methods are older than ours, and far more precise. When witches craft poison, it’s not just designed to kill, it’s designed to torment.”
That gave Rio pause.
“Then what the hell is it doing here?” he asked, lowering his voice, ncing around to ensure no panicked ears overheard. “We’re near the border, not halfway across the continent.”
Mendez shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. But if witches are involved…” He trailed off, clearly not willing to speak the rest of that sentence aloud.
Rio straightened, chest tight with unease.
Before he could respond, footsteps approached fast through the muck. Lieutenant Lucas emerged, his expression unreadable. He stopped in front of Rio and gave a quick nod.
“You and I are leading the pursuit team,” Lucas said. “Demon Fangs retreated west through the forest. Our scouts saw the trails. They didn’t bother covering them.”
Rio nodded without hesitation. “We move now?”
“Now,<i>” </i>Lucas confirmed. “The longer we wait, the harder they’ll be to catch.”
Without wasting time, both men crossed to the weapons racks, grabbing reinforced masks designed to filter airborne toxins. They strapped them on with practiced ease, adjusting the seals over their noses and mouths. The materials were rough, not perfect protection, but enough to stave off the worst of the miasma.
Rio secured his des at his sides, gave onest nce toward the wounded behind him, and turned toward the trail ahead.
Rain still drizzled, lighter now, but the forest remained soaked. Every step squelched beneath their boots, mud swallowing their ankles in ces. Fallen branches and slick rocks turned the chase into a dangerous dance of bnce and urgency.
<b>80 </b>
55 vouchers
The morning sun threatened to rise behind a veil of clouds, its faint light cutting jagged shadows across the forest floor. The trees were thick and twisted, visibility poor in some areas and worse in others. But the trail was clear, broken branches, smeared blood, andrge imprints marked the Demon Fangs‘ route.
“They’re moving fast for injured men,” Lucas muttered beside him.
Rio grunted. “They know we’ll chase. That poison wasn’t meant to kill everyone, it was meant to slow us down.”
“Then let’s show them it didn’t work.”
They moved swiftly, deeper into the forest. The scent of wet bark and rotting leaves filled the air, heavy with moisture and something else, something faint but foul. At first, Rio didn’t pay attention to it, attributing the bitterness to the rain–drenched terrain and charred remnants ofst night’s skirmish.
But then Lucas slowed beside him.
“You smell that?” he asked, turning his head slightly.
Rio did. It wasn’t just smoke or wet earth. There was a chemical edge to the air now, acrid, metallic, and clinging to the inside of his mask. His gut twisted with recognition.
“Poison,” Rio muttered. “It’sced through the air.”
Lucas scanned the area, posture stiffening. “They’ve saturated the terrain.”
Rio raised a fist, signaling the others to halt. The small unit behind them, six men, all masked -froze without question.
“This is clearly a step up to what they’re used to,” Lucas said. “It’s a trap.”
Rio’s gaze swept the underbrush. The trail was still visible, but now it looked too clean, too easy to follow<i>. </i>That’s when he spotted it.
A glint of ss beneath a low–hanging branch.
He crouched slowly, brushing aside the leaves. Nestled in a bed of moss was a small canister, cracked open and oozing a pale, pulsing mist. The scent intensified.
“It’s a dispersal trap,” he hissed. “One wrong step and-”
A sudden cry cut through the forest behind them.
“Ramos!” one of the soldiers shouted, and Rio spun around in time to see a man copse, convulsing violently. Foam bubbled at his lips, his mask ripped halfway from his face.