Ricky watched from above, his compound eyes gleaming with faint disinterest. The chaos unfolding below—the screaming soldiers, the crashing formations, the desperate attempts at resistance—meant little to him.
The Federation's performance was of no concern. Whether they succeeded or fell was irrelevant.
His true focus lay elsewhere.
His gaze swept across the battlefield like a cold, calculating specter. The tide of undead stretched endlessly beneath him, a black sea of death advancing with unrelenting hunger. But Ricky wasn't looking at the foot soldiers.
His skill—Lifespan Sense—was already activated, humming like a finely-tuned instrument. Glowing threads of residual vitality flickered across his vision, painting a spectral map of the battlefield. Most were dim and brittle, weak echoes of life barely clinging to rotting flesh. But among them...
Ricky's eyes narrowed.
