As Cavalon picked himself up, another Drudger came from an alcove to his right, behind Rake’s field of view. His heart slammed against his chest as it stared across the room, distracted by Rake executing all its friends and seemingly unaware of the idiot lingering helplessly just two meters away.
Now, Cavalon supposed, would be exactly the time to prove he wasn’t dead weight.
He fumbled his pistol from its holster, aimed it straight at the Drudger’s wrinkly forehead, and pulled the trigger.
And literally nothing happened.
“Shit,” he hissed, but he had no time to troubleshoot as the Drudger started for Rake.
“Scrappy,” she’d said. He might as well own it.
So he chucked the gun as hard as he could at the Drudger’s head. It had the decency of looking briefly stunned—though more likely by the inanity of the action than anything—stopping in its tracks as the gun bounced pointlessly off its forehead.
With as much Imprint-infused, epithesium-fueled rage as he could muster, Cavalon charged the Drudger and slammed it into the wall. “Stay within their guard,” Rake had said. Check.
He grappled with the disgusting thing, pinning its neck to the wall with his forearm. He coughed and tried not to choke on a lungful of putrid Drudger stench. Summoning his Imprints, he pressed harder to keep the Drudger against the wall with one hand as he fumbled his knife out of its sheath with the other.
Clamping a sweaty hand around the hilt, he recalled Mesa’s advice: “Sixth and seventh rib. Apply a great deal of thrust.” He took aim, his mouth burning with the taste of copper, and stabbed it into the Drudger’s side, praying he didn’t miss.
But he missed, he definitely missed.
Pain shot up his arm as the blade hit directly into one of the hard, glinting metallic exoskeletal plates. The knife twisted, skimming a layer of thick, gray skin off the plating, before wrenching from his grip and clattering to the ground.
“Bloody void—” Cavalon hissed.
The Drudger took advantage of the distraction and threw Cavalon to the floor, then leapt after him. His Imprints flew into his torso, and he barely rolled away in time as the creature pounded its fists into the ground where he’d just been.
He scrambled to his knees and grabbed the legs of a nearby chair and swung. The light metal crumpled against the Drudger’s chest, and it collapsed into the wall. Cavalon crawled forward and straddled it before it could regain its senses. His Imprints rushed to his thighs and a few sped to his arm as he pinned the Drudger’s wrists with one hand. He grabbed the knife. “Pointy end to the face.”
However, even as the gross creature snarled and snapped at him, its large blue eyes full of hate and willing to kill him the second it got the chance, Cavalon knew he couldn’t do it. Those were Savant eyes—human eyes. Killing it was one thing. Stabbing it brutally in the face beforehand? That was something else.
So he mustered himself and took aim at the chest again—he hoped better aim—then stabbed with all his strength.
This time, the blade found purchase, slicing between the carapace plates, sliding between the ribs, and lodging deep into the Drudger’s chest. It let out a guttural groan and its body shuddered, hacking up a splutter of crimson blood that sprayed across Cavalon’s chest. Moments later, its eyes rolled back into its head, and its muscles slackened as the life left it completely.
Unmoving, Cavalon stared at the corpse under him. His sweat-slicked fingers shook as he released his grip from the hilt of the knife. He thought about removing it—he might need it again. But he couldn’t, right at the moment, so he left it buried in the dead Drudger’s chest.
He only then realized the fight might not be over. He turned quickly to look for more adversaries, but the room had gone still and silent.
Rake watched him steadily, standing among her pile of bodies. Seven, at least. Even she looked a little spent, a few wisps of hair stuck to the sweat beading on her forehead, olive-skinned cheeks flushed with exertion.