The corridors reeked sharply of blood and iron, the slick pools catching the faint flicker of fungi in jagged, fractured shards. Dead wardens lay sprawled across the cold, damp floor — limbs bent at unnatural angles, their bodies marred by deep, jagged wounds. The heavy air hung thick with that metallic tang, broken only by the occasional groan or sharp, ragged breath from the injured being carefully carried out. Faces etched with pain and exhaustion passed by—grim, strained, silently bearing the brutal toll the battle had carved into them.
The steady procession of wounded wardens slowly thinned, each borne on the backs of comrades, their breaths shallow, eyes glazed with pain or shock. Every footstep echoed hollowly through the tunnel—a haunting rhythm of survival and sacrifice. One by one, the defenders' numbers dwindled, the murmur of movement fading until silence claimed the corridor. Only two figures remained standing amid the carnage.
Seth and Xylon.
A heavy silence stretched between them. The distant dripping of water, the faint scurrying of unseen insects in the distance, and the soft drip of blood onto stone filled the void where words had yet to be spoken.
Breaking the silence, Seth's voice cut through the stillness like a blade.
"Didn't expect you to let all your targets slip away so easily," he said, voice low but edged with surprise. His fingers tightened instinctively around the hilt of his weapon, knuckles paling.
Xylon's eyes, cold and unblinking, locked onto him with an unyielding stare. A faint chill seemed to radiate from his calm posture. "There's no need for that," he replied smoothly, his tone icy, barely more than a whisper. His shoulders relaxed just enough to show confidence, but his hand moved subtly, fingers curling over his mandibles like claws at his side.
"Besides, if I tried to give pursuit, you'd just get in my way." The cruel smirk that twisted his lips was slow, deliberate—like a predator savoring the moment. His gaze flickered downward briefly, then snapped back, sharp and deadly. "So I'll have to get rid of you first, Chief Warden. Then your wounded strays."
Seth took a slow, deliberate breath, the faint rasp of air filling the quiet as he stepped forward. The dull thud of his boots echoed softly against the dirt-packed ground, each step measured, controlled. His eyes narrowed slightly, shadowed beneath a furrowed brow as he studied Xylon's hardened expression.
"You've changed," he said quietly, voice rough but steady, his jaw tightening. "After twelve years locked away… you've become more… talkative." His gaze flicked to Xylon's eyes for a brief moment, reading the subtle twitch there. "And your murderous intent? Still as sharp as ever." He took a small step closer, his shoulders squared. "Maybe even worse."
Xylon's head tilted just so, the movement slow and deliberate, a flicker of curiosity dancing in his cold eyes. His lips curved into a faint, sardonic smile that didn't reach the depths of his gaze. "That explains why you look so familiar," he said, voice low with a hint of mockery, but threaded with an unexpected measure of respect. "You were there twelve years ago — Lieutenant back then, right?" His fingers twitched briefly, as if itching to strike, but he held still.
"Right you are," Seth replied, his jaw tightening. "Now I'm Commander Seth — Chief Warden of the prison sector. My job is to make sure dangerous criminals like you stay locked away." He took a firm step closer, gaze unwavering. "This is your last chance, Lieutenant Xylon. Surrender now, and you might return to your cell alive and whole. And also, relay everything you know about the breakout — any accomplices, any plans — and maybe you'll see daylight again sooner than you think."
Xylon laughed, low and menacing, echoing off the damp walls. "Talkative, huh? I thought I was the one who talked a lot." His eyes narrowed, cold and dead. "Why would I bow to someone inferior to me?"
Seth's expression hardened, his jaw clenched tight as a shadow passed over his eyes. "That's unfortunate for you." His voice dropped low, fierce and resolute, each word dripping with cold intent. "Don't expect the mercy Captain Terrence gave you last time. This time, I'll cut down every last one of you for the lives you took."
"Then I'd like to see you try." In a blur, Xylon lunged forward, mandibles flashing in a deadly arc.
Seth was ready. With almost casual calm, he raised a mandible to block both strikes simultaneously. The clash rang out sharply, the metallic clang reverberating off the narrow tunnel walls, sending a faint echo trembling through the stale air.
Without hesitation, Seth drew his other mandible free, the blade sliding from its sheath with a whispered hiss. He slashed fiercely toward Xylon.
Xylon barely managed to dodge, his boots skidding against the slick, damp floor. He staggered back a step, fingers coming up quickly to wipe at his face. His palm came away sticky and red. He glanced down—fresh blood glistening on his skin.
"Missed me," Xylon said with a hiss, voice tense but admiring. "Your instincts… sharper than I expected."
Seth's eyes glinted. "At least your senses are alive enough to know I'm a threat you can't handle."
A subtle tremor ran through Xylon's hands, fingers twitching as if eager to strike yet controlled. His lips parted slightly, whispering, "It's been twelve years since I saw my own blood." The words barely audible, but charged with raw anticipation. "This... this is going to be fun."
Their mandibles slammed together again, metal biting into metal with a sharp, piercing clang that bounced off the tunnel walls. The vibrations thrummed up their exoskeletons, sending a brief shock through their limbs. Both warriors shifted their weight, feet scraping against the rough dirt floor, muscles tensing as they prepared for the next strike. Tiny beads of sweat gathered on their foreheads, mixing with the faint dust in the air stirred by their rapid movements. Each took a quick, shallow breath through their spiracles, eyes locked and unblinking, focused solely on the other's next move.
Far away, in the worker sector, silence held firm where the steady clinking of digging tools should have echoed. The air was still and thick, carrying the faint scent of disturbed earth. The tunnels lay empty, the walls rough and worn from countless hours of labor now abandoned. Only the heavy thuds of military ants' footsteps broke the quiet, their legs scraping against the hard-packed soil as they moved with sharp alertness. Their antennae twitched constantly, picking up the faintest vibrations, scanning the shadows where workers once toiled.
"Why now?" Nilo's voice broke the quiet, shaky and small. Fear trembled in his eyes. "Why did this have to happen…? What's going to happen to us?"
"Why now?" Nilo's voice broke the quiet, shaky and small. His fingers clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles whitening. Fear trembled in his eyes, darting nervously around the dim tunnel. "Why did this have to happen…? What's going to happen to us?"
Sera tried to force confidence into her voice, though her hands betrayed her, trembling slightly at her sides. She swallowed hard, fighting to steady her breath. "Stop being such a child, Nilo. We'll be alright. The soldiers are here — they'll protect us."
A tight knot formed in her stomach, and she pressed her lips together to keep from trembling. She admitted quietly to herself, "I'm scared too. I don't want to die… but I have to believe they can keep us safe."
A soft voice interrupted them from behind.
"Calm yourselves."
Both turned, startled, to see Deputy Flint stepping into the dim light.
"I know the situation looks bad. We don't know what our enemy can do." His tone was steady, measured, unshaken by the tension around them. "But I promise you — you'll be safe. Our military ants will not let harm come to you."
Nilo blinked rapidly, voice trembling. "How can you be so calm... in a situation like this?"
Flint gave a faint smile, his gaze drifting briefly upward as if recalling distant memories. "I've faced death before — I've supervised expeditions where lives hung in the balance. This… this is nothing new."
Suddenly, heavy footsteps pounded closer, echoing sharply through the tunnels.
"Draw weapons! Privates, ready yourselves!" A Corporal's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. "Lance Corporals — protect the workers with your lives!"
"Yes, Corporal Quinn!" The soldiers snapped to attention, their hands trembling slightly as they gripped their mandibles tightly. Muscles tensed visibly beneath their rigid exoskeletons.
The Lance Corporals planted their feet firmly, sweat gathering in beads on their chitinous foreheads and trickling down the sides of their faces.
As the soldiers rounded the corner, Quinn's stance softened, her shoulders dropping as she recognized the approaching figures.
"At ease," she ordered quietly. "These are our own."
Relief spread quickly through the group. Weapons lowered with a clatter, shoulders sagged as tension drained away.
"Sergeant Samuel! I'm glad you're here, sir!" Quinn's voice trembled with urgency as her eyes darted down the tunnel. "We've got a serious situation—"
Samuel said nothing. He stepped forward slowly, flanked by ten soldiers, each bearing three sharp petals etched onto their left shoulders.
Quinn's breath hitched sharply, her heart hammered against her ribs. A cold weight settling in her chest as the truth dawned on her.
"Wait... those aren't soldiers. They're prisoners."
Before she could react, Samuel's mandibles snapped open and flashed in a vicious downward slash. A spray of blood erupted from Quinn's abdomen, staining the dirt beneath her. She crumpled instantly, legs folding beneath her, eyes wide and glassy with shock.
"Sergeant Samuel… Why—" Her voice broke and cut off abruptly as she collapsed with a heavy thud onto the cold ground.
Chaos erupted instantly. Screams shattered the stillness, sharp and frantic, echoing through the narrow tunnels as workers stumbled over one another, scrambling to escape.
"Slaughter them all!" Samuel's voice boomed, cold and merciless, cutting through the clamor. "Three thousand worker ants or not — we'll get the job done."
Corporal Quinn's body thudded heavily onto the ground, dust puffing up around her. Her breath rattled in a gurgle before stilling, but her comrades didn't pause—faces pale and strained with panic, muscles tense, they surged forward, claws raised to shield the workers.
A private shifted sharply to intercept a prisoner's strike. The dull snap of his mandibles clashing with the attacker's was followed by a wet, sickening crunch as he was cut down, a spurt of dark blood splattering the dirt. His body crumpled with a hollow thud, and a sharp cry of shock broke from the soldiers nearby.
Lance Corporals and privates alike pressed forward, limbs shaking with exhaustion but fueled by desperation. Their breath came in ragged gasps, chests heaving as sweat slicked their exoskeletons. Each new strike landed with a grim finality — bodies dropped, eyes glazed, limbs twitching briefly before going still.
The soldiers' numbers dwindled rapidly. The remaining defenders' mandibles trembled, some trembling with the ache of deep fatigue, others with cold dread. Soon, the protective barrier collapsed — workers, faces contorted in terror, found themselves exposed, vulnerable to the enemy's merciless attacks. The sound of frantic scurrying was punctuated by piercing screams and the sickening impact of blows that tore through soft bodies.
One worker ant stumbled, her legs buckling beneath her until she collapsed heavily onto the gritty dirt. She scrambled to her side, heart hammering so loudly she feared it might burst. Terror widened her eyes as a prisoner lunged at her, mandibles snapping inches from her face.
"No, please!" she screamed, voice cracking with desperation, but a harsh, ripping slash silenced her instantly. Warm blood blossomed across her side as her body went limp.
"Come on, Nilo! Sera! We have to get out of here!" Flint's voice cracked with urgency, breath ragged and uneven.
Sera's limbs stiffened, muscles trembling with fear, but she forced herself to move, claws scraping against the tunnel floor.
Nilo, however, remained rooted in place, chest heaving rapidly, breaths sharp and panicked. His antennae twitched erratically, and his eyes flickered with frozen disbelief.
Two Corporals caught sight of him and charged, their jaws wide, poised to strike.
Nilo squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the crushing impact.
Suddenly, a heavy thud echoed as a powerful blow landed on one attacker, sending him staggering backward. Chief Worker Ant Edmund stood firm, his body tense and coiled with strength, fists pounding relentlessly on the prisoner's head until dark blood splattered the ground.
"Everyone, run!" Edmund bellowed, voice raw but commanding, sweat dripping from his brow. "I'll hold them off as long as I can!"
Edmund fought fiercely, fists pounding and legs bracing, but he was no soldier trained for battle. Surrounded, two prisoners slashed viciously at his chest. The first strike tore through his exoskeleton with a sickening crack, and Edmund staggered, collapsing onto his knees, breath ragged.
"Damn it… they're too strong," he gasped, eyes wide with pain and desperation as the attackers closed in, preparing to deliver the killing blow.
Suddenly, a figure sprang into the fray, mandibles snapping with razor precision, deflecting the fatal strike in a sharp metallic clang.
"It's a good thing I arrived when I did," said a calm voice, steady and laced with steel determination.
"Sergeant Beatrice!" Isla's voice trembled as she rushed to her side, mandibles drawn but shaking. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to steady her breath and stance.
Rory appeared beside them, mandibles flashing with righteous fury, eyes blazing. "You bastards! You'll pay for every life you've taken here!"
Beatrice's eyes locked onto Samuel, surprise flickering across her face before she quickly regained her composure. "This comes as a surprise. But what puzzles me more is why you're siding with the enemy... when you should be guarding the Queen's chamber."
Samuel's expression flickered—eyes narrowing, jaw tightening—but Beatrice pressed on, voice sharp and cutting. "Sergeant Samuel… or should I say, Vice Captain of the Royal Guards."