A Blood-Red Fissure

Night hung like ink, heavy and oppressive over the earth, as though it would swallow everything whole. At the mouth of the valley, the once-sturdy defensive line had been reduced to ruins, looking especially horrifying beneath the pallid moonlight.

Shattered stones lay scattered everywhere, as if torn apart by some enormous force; broken wooden stakes sprawled across the ground, as though ravaged by a violent gale; and the bodies strewn about were soaked in sludge mixed with acid and blood, too dreadful to look at.

A pungent stench filled the air—the smell of acid mixed with blood, so thick it was nearly impossible to breathe. Every breath felt as though flames were burning in his throat, bringing searing pain.

Beneath the rock wall, Ryan knelt halfway in the mud, his body trembling faintly. Blood kept pouring from his mouth, dripping from his jaw and staining the ground beneath him red. His chest rose and fell violently, as though every breath was a difficult battle.

His hands gripped his twin blades tightly, their bodies planted in the mud before him. Their edges were riddled with chips and stained with blood and green fluid. The unceasing impacts had long since left his arms numb and aching, while the splits in the webs of his hands had torn even deeper from excessive force. Even his fingertips had nearly lost all sensation.

The Squadron Leader-level Ant-Man stood not far away, its enormous body like a moving wall amid the night and mist. Its shell was thick and heavy. Though several wounds had been carved into its abdomen and tail, it still stood firm. The spikes rising from its back glinted coldly beneath the moonlight, and its eyes stared straight ahead, calm and oppressive. It showed no impatience; its movements were composed, every step seeming