The worker sector stretched wide and cavernous, the ceiling rising high above like a hollow dome of stone. Patches of faint fungi clung to the walls, casting a pale green glow that left the tunnels half-lit, shadows flickering across the uneven surfaces. Resin storage plates lined the walls, their surfaces gleaming faintly with berries and supplies, though many had already been cracked or abandoned. Pickaxes and tools lay scattered across the dirt floor, left behind in panic.
Pools of blood seeped across the ground beneath the fallen. The metallic tang hung thick in the air, sharp enough to sting the senses with every breath. The remaining soldiers stood in formation, their bodies forming a brittle shield between the terrified workers and the enemy.
The workers drew close, antennae twitching in sharp bursts, their wide eyes shifting between the fallen, the soldiers, and the enemy line. The air felt dense, weighted — every breath, every drop of sweat sounded too loud, too exposed.
The workers drew closer, antennae twitching in sharp bursts, their wide eyes shifting between the fallen, the soldiers, and the enemy line. The air felt dense, weighted — every breath, every drop of sweat sounded too loud, too exposed.
Nilo's gaze darted toward the approaching figures. His chest tightened at first, heart hammering, until his eyes caught the insignia on the left shoulder of the leading soldier: five petals. A sergeant. Beatrice. Relief flickered faintly through his fear. "I… I thought all hope was lost," he whispered, voice trembling.
Sera gave a small, steady nod, her antennae twitching but her stance firm. "I knew they'd come. Our soldiers… they're strong. We'll be alright." Her words carried confidence that eased the tension around them, if only slightly.
Flint moved quickly toward Edmund, kneeling beside his body. Fingers probing carefully, he checked for a pulse. A faint thrum answered his touch. "Good… he's alive," Flint murmured. His voice was steady, calm, almost unnervingly so given the carnage around them. "Nilo, Sera — help me treat his wounds. Everyone else who can move, tend to the injured. Stop the bleeding, patch up what you can."
Nilo's eyes flicked to Flint, wide. How can he be so calm right now? The thought ran through his mind as he bent to assist. Is that what it takes… to be the leader of the worker ants?
"Did you just say he's the Vice Captain of the Royal Guards?! As in the one that protects the Queen?" Rory's voice cracked with disbelief, his hands clenching his mandibles tighter.
"I've heard about the Royal Guards before, but I've never actually met the Captain or Vice Captain. Why is he on the enemy's side?" Isla's mandibles trembled in her hands as she spoke, fingers shaking slightly.
"That's what I want to know," Rory growled, eyes blazing. "Why the hell is he slaughtering everyone he swore to protect? That's… unforgivable." He crouched slightly, ready to spring forward, mandibles itching for battle.
Suddenly, Beatrice raised a hand sharply. Rory froze, the tension in his limbs coiling as he obeyed her silent command.
Beatrice's fingers tightened around the hilts of her mandibles, the faint scrape of metal against metal echoing softly as she stepped closer. Her eyes glinted with controlled fury. "You betrayed your comrades, Samuel. You betrayed the Queen. How… how could you do such a thing?"
Samuel shifted his weight, boots scraping lightly against the dirt floor, mandibles angled forward like twin blades. His claws flexed over the hilts. "Betrayed? I betrayed nothing. I swore an oath—to protect the colony, the throne… but not that heartless pretender sitting on it."
Beatrice's antennae twitched sharply. "Pretender? How dare you speak of our Queen that way! What madness are you speaking? Have you… gone insane? Is this what you call swearing an oath—protecting the colony by mindlessly slaughtering its people?" She pressed her mandibles forward, the inner edges catching a faint glint of the dim light. Her legs flexed subtly, coiling for movement.
Samuel took a measured step, his mandibles twitching in a subtle, controlled motion. "My squad and I were sent west by the Queen to investigate unusual movements beyond the colony. Nine of us—most just privates or corporals—and I was their sergeant." He exhaled through his nose, shoulders tensing as he lowered his mandibles.
He shifted his stance slightly, the scrape of armor against the dirt floor faint but audible. "We never made it back. We walked straight into a wasp ambush. We tried to hold our ground… but they were too strong. One by one, I lost every soldier under my command. I alone survived that day. When I returned, I wasn't honored. I wasn't promoted. I was chastised. Branded a fool… the one who led his squad to their doom. And then… I overheard her."
"My squad died for her. Every one of them—gone. And for what?" Samuel's mandibles clenched tightly. "I heard her words with my own ears. She called them disposable. Replaceable." He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. "That was the moment I saw it clearly. She is not the Queen. Not mine. Not this colony's. She is… an evil that needs to be purged."
Beatrice's arms locked, mandibles pressed hard into her palms. Sweat trickled down her face in sharp lines. No…this can't be happening. if even high-ranking soldiers have chosen to side with the prisoners, then the colony's foundation itself is crumbling.
"You want to know the real reason I became a Royal Guard?" Samuel's voice cut through the tension, low and steady. He smirked. "It wasn't loyalty. It wasn't duty. It was to get close enough… to kill her. I waited all these years for the chance. And now… at last, it's here."
Beatrice shifted her weight slightly, her eyes narrowing on them. "So… you chose to throw away your honor and stand with murderers? Ants who kill without reason, without cause? That's who you've become?"
"Listen to me, Samuel. Don't act irrationally," Beatrice said sharply, her voice firm, cutting through the tension. She flexed her arms slightly, fingers tightening around her mandibles. "In her role, she has to think of the colony as a whole, not individuals. In your time of vulnerability, her tone may have seemed harsh… but—"
"But she wasn't being heartless," Beatrice continued, stepping forward, legs firm, chest tense. "She spoke like a monarch under constant pressure… trying to preserve thousands of lives. Your comrades fought bravely. They died noble deaths for the colony's sake—and I'm certain they sacrificed themselves so you could survive. And this… this is how you repay them? By betraying the colony they died protecting?"
Samuel's antennae twitched. "You say that, but if our roles were reversed…And the one closest to you dies in battle… just to be discarded as nothing… you'd have gone down the same path I did."
"Please, Sergeant Samuel… don't do this," Isla whispered. Though her body trembled like stone under pressure, her grip on her mandibles held firm, a fragile show of resolve beneath the weight of terror.
Samuel's voice rang out, sharp and merciless. "Enough talking. First I'll cut you down… then I'll slaughter every worker cowering behind you. And when they're gone… I'll march straight for the Queen herself."
Beatrice's chest constricted, a surge of heat rushing through her arms as she lifted the mandible blades high. Her stance solidified, legs rooted, her grip tightening until the hilts dug into her palms. She drew in one sharp breath before speaking, her voice hard as stone. "If that's the case… then I'll meet you without restraint. I'll cut you down myself if that's what it takes to keep the colony safe."
Samuel's antennae flicked sharply, a signal understood without question. The ten corporal-level prisoners flanking him broke forward in unison, their eyes hard and merciless. "Kill everyone in sight," Samuel barked, his voice cleaving through the fragile stillness.
Two of the prisoners broke from the formation, rushing at Beatrice from opposite sides. Their mandible blades swung down in fast, precise arcs aimed at her torso. Beatrice held her ground. Her legs were bent and steady, and she rotated her upper body with careful control. Her fingers gripped the hilts of her mandibles tightly, knuckles strained, every muscle ready to respond to the incoming attacks.
Rory reacted instantly on the left, rotating his body to raise a single mandible. He met both of the prisoner's blades with a single block. The metal clashed sharply, the vibration running up his arm as he forced the attacker back one step.
On the right, Isla raised her mandibles to meet the downward strike. The inner edges of her blades collided with the prisoner's, producing a sharp metallic screech. She bent and rotated her legs, adjusting every joint to absorb the force. The prisoner stumbled slightly, reacting to the unexpected resistance.
"Don't focus on them, Sergeant Beatrice. Leave these smaller targets to us. That is… if you can handle him," Rory said, smirking as his eyes narrowed on Samuel.
"I appreciate the subtle insult, Corporal, but I'll be fine. Just… don't get yourself killed," Beatrice said, her voice calm but sharp, carrying clearly across the quiet tension of the chamber. Her mandibles remained flexed in her hands, fingers tightening around the hilts as she measured the distance to each opponent. She shifted her weight slightly, testing her balance, every muscle coiled in preparation, waiting for the first move.
"Listen up! Remaining soldiers, if you still have the will to fight, protect the worker ants!" Beatrice barked. Her voice rang sharply through the narrow tunnels of the worker sector, bouncing off the walls and carrying to every soldier and worker in earshot.
"You heard the sergeant! Keep formation!" a lance corporal shouted. His voice rang out, but the slight shake in his tone betrayed the fear behind it.
The line of privates and lance corporals stiffened. They gripped their weapons tightly, legs set firmly, forcing themselves to stay in position despite the tension building around them.
"Who are you calling small target?" one of the prisoners snarled. He lifted his mandibles as he stepped forward, circling toward Rory and Isla with deliberate movements. The other prisoners fanned out, their mandible blades catching the dim light as they advanced, narrowing the space between themselves and the soldiers.
Rory and Isla pressed their backs together instinctively, feet scraping against the packed dirt floor as they adjusted their balance. Their antennae twitched constantly, and their eyes tracked every movement of the prisoners closing in around them.
"Are you scared, Isla?" Rory muttered under his breath, his mandibles angled upward, eyes flicking toward her for a split second.
"…To be honest, I am," Isla admitted, her antennae trembling slightly. She tightened her grip on her mandibles, flexing every finger around the hilts. She shifted her weight slightly, testing her balance, legs tense and ready. "But this isn't like last time against the grasshoppers. This time… I'll hold my ground. I'll protect these worker ants, just as a soldier should." Her eyes scanned the prisoners, calculating their positions, muscles coiled and prepared for the first movement.
Rory smirked briefly, exhaling through his nose. "Glad to hear it. Watch my back for me—" His legs bent slightly, ready to spring. "—and don't hesitate to kill. They won't."
The air in the tunnel tightened. Dust drifted from the ceiling. Every breath, every shuffle of feet against the stone floor, every twitch of antennae cut through the silence as the fight was about to explode.
"Seems like you got what you wanted—a one-on-one fight with me," Samuel said, smirking. His antennae twitched as he leaned forward. "Just know… it'll be the death of you!"
He lunged. His legs drove into the packed dirt floor, the impact reverberating through the tunnel. His mandibles swung down in a powerful arc, the air vibrating from the force of the strike.
Beatrice raised her mandibles and met the strike head-on.
The blades collided with a sharp clang. The force rattled her arms, pushing her back one step. Her feet scraped against the packed dirt floor as she adjusted her stance, grit digging under her soles to maintain balance.
"Kh—!" Beatrice gritted her teeth, leaning into the strike and forcing her weight forward. Samuel's strength pressed back against her, driving into her shoulders. Her arms trembled under the strain as she fought to hold her position, muscles straining with every fraction of movement.
Samuel's grin widened as his mandibles pressed against hers, the metal edges grinding sharply. "You're already falling behind," he said, forcing his weight forward and testing the limits of her strength.