Quickly checking over what he had left, Guts pulls a few throwing knives free from his belt.
"Sorry. It ain't my style to run."
A familiar projectile relying on the strength of his arm would be better than the finicky company equipment, he figures. He had to wait til the bugs got a bit closer, but is able to disable a few more with what he had left. Well-placed knives crack open chitin and slice clean through exposed flesh before dissolving somewhere on the ground or in their bodies.
When that option runs dry, he rifles through a pouch for the remainder of the black powder miniature bombs. Not as strong as a grenade, but the blast is strong enough to melt chitin. This is it. One handful of the spiked pellets, and then he'll be down to armor and sword...
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"Sorry. It ain't my style to run."
A familiar projectile relying on the strength of his arm would be better than the finicky company equipment, he figures. He had to wait til the bugs got a bit closer, but is able to disable a few more with what he had left. Well-placed knives crack open chitin and slice clean through exposed flesh before dissolving somewhere on the ground or in their bodies.
When that option runs dry, he rifles through a pouch for the remainder of the black powder miniature bombs. Not as strong as a grenade, but the blast is strong enough to melt chitin. This is it. One handful of the spiked pellets, and then he'll be down to armor and sword...