Rathlands [Monster Hunter] [ENG]

Chapter 9 (Oxiderr POV) /!\ WARNING FOR VIOLENCE /!\

 Oxiderr was not worried. Admittedly, the first part of the battle turned out to be tighter than expected because of the desperate strategic innovations of the Rathiens, but he remained very confident. Rakurian' losses remained very low compared to those on the Rathien side, and each Nordic fought with the courage of a lion. Even Acheron, whom he had seen emerge several times from his line, in order to shoot down a troublesome Tigrex. For his part, his electric attacks at incredible range were a great success. The trio he formed with his father and Irodim was a yellow and green wall that was impossible to break. But this wall progressed rapidly toward the heart of the bowl that the Rathiens adopted to try to repel them, along with the Burutians' reinforcements.

The Howling Zinogre grew increasingly fond of these warriors. Powerful, unshakeable, blinded by the need for destruction, he almost admired them. The only thing he could blame them for was the choice of their nation, that of preferring to wear armor or other gear to fight. Like any good Rakurian worthy of his name, Oxiderr fought without protection, and hardly complained about it. On the contrary.

"A true warrior does not hide under artificial shields. What's more, it is very cumbersome to carry and hinders movement. "He thought.

A Khezu landed in front of them, smeared with blood that was not his, because he bore no open wound. A soldier in the last lines, judging by his correct but relatively weak musculature.

"Your Excellency Rakurai," he bowed hastily and panting, "General Blizzard was anxious to inform you of his readiness to put out of action the swordsman Astalos which threatens the inner lines and our strategy. He sent me to report that he has been significantly affected by it, and that it will take a while before he can resume his pursuit and create a diversion."

His father's muzzle wrinkled with discontent.

"Although he is quickly back on his feet, Blizzard is crucial to us in dealing with this Rathien general. In the meantime, give Asterion the order to get the air squad going to keep the pressure on her. Under no circumstances should she make herself comfortable over our heads!" he ordered, his fangs slightly uncovered, while electrocuting a Nargacuga who was approaching dangerously, and to whom he only took a brief glance at the corpse to make sure of his death.

"All right, Your Excellency."

The flying wyvern with its flabby white skin took off clumsily as soon as he had finished his sentence. Oxiderr thundered the Pink Rathian that had appeared to prevent him from transmitting the precious message. She screamed in pain before hitting the ground, head first, where she was quickly reduced to lint by the Zinogres who were covering the imperial breakthrough.

"So naive, so weak! What a pleasure to shot them like small preys!" he rejoiced, a carnivorous smile on his lips.

His younger brother also expressed his amusement at massacring the Rathians.

"It's true that it's funny! They're dropping like flies!" Irodim barked, who despite this naive statement was bearing scarlet drips on his fangs.

"Victory is at hand, my sons! All we have to do now is break their formation and the door of Ignis will be open to us!" cried their patriarch as he knocked down the Lavasioth in front of him with a single blow of his paw, his amber fur bristling with electricity.

They advanced more and more towards the center of the bowl, where their progress was brutally slowed down: the fighting raged there, and the many lost projectiles, Rathiens and Rakurians alike, whistled at the level of their horns. In addition, corpses were beginning to pile up everywhere, and the enormous carrion of a dying Gammoth forced them to make wide detours more than once. When he would find a Rathien body, Oxiderr would check to make sure that there was no trace of life left in them. If it was dead for sure, he would only be interested in it for five seconds at the most; if not, he would hideously scratch them with a claw that had been covered with the filthy mud covering the ground. Their suffering would thus be longer and unbearable, and this thought made him peculiarly happy. The only advantage of these macabre mounds was the possibility of retreating behind them, waiting for a lull in a furious duel taking place nearby.