Scutosaurus

While predators sharpened their teeth and hunters refined their strikes,

Scutosaurus took the opposite path: it simply became impossible to hurt.

Plates of living bone covered its body like tiles on a fortress wall — thick,

overlapping, layered so densely that claws skidded off and teeth shattered

against them. Inostrancevia could kill almost anything in the Eldergrowth.

Scutosaurus was the almost. It did not fight back. It did not need to. It

simply endured, grazing the low vegetation with the unhurried calm of

something that had solved the problem of survival by making the question

irrelevant. There is a quiet genius in Scutosaurus — the realization that

you do not need to be faster, smarter, or fiercer than your enemies. You

only need to be harder. The Eldergrowth threw everything it had at this

slow, stubborn, magnificently armored creature. And Scutosaurus walked

through all of it, chewing, unbothered, leaving not a single scratch to

show for it.