Prince Cerceux was met by the stench of decay as they reached the northern hinterlands of Thallerion. Behind a massive fortified wall, creatures with rattling, jet-black chitinous limbs—crustacean-like in their hardness—lashed out with tails that cracked the stone. These monstrosities possessed scorpion stingers measuring 0.5 meters, contributing to a total body mass of fifty kilograms. Their heads were elongated and soft like a sea anemone, yet lined with serrated teeth and draped in an iridescent white membrane. Every strike from their stingers carried a paralytic agent designed to freeze their prey.
"My Prince, this is the document recovered from the first laboratory," Alexuther said grimly.
Cerceux remained focused, peering through a brass telescope to count the creatures battering the barricade. Each impact echoed through the valley, sending rhythmic, minor tremors through the earth.
"The records state this isn't a biological or natural mutation," Alexuther continued. "It is a grand deception of the arcane—using science and technology to force a new evolution."
"An evolution?" Cerceux extended the telescope, sharpening the focus on a dark aperture in the distance. It was a cavernous hive, its mouth slick with green sludge and the discarded residues of failed experiments. The air was thick with the briny scent of pus mixed with caustic surgical chemicals. One by one, the creatures crawled out; their eight legs tapped the ground with brittle precision, emitting a sonar-like clicking. Their torsos featured a "Spencer"—a specialized organ that expanded and contracted like a bloated pufferfish—flanked by two pincers as sharp as bone saws.
Alexuther stepped beside the Prince, clutching a thick stack of parchment. "AS-Myrmex Lab 170." He read the codename from the twenty-five-page dossier. The pages were filled with scrawled notes in squid ink and hand-drawn DNA helices. Interspersed among the technical data were unsettling, puerile sketches of stick figures with manic expressions and spider-like limbs. The creator of this is a child-minded psychopath, Alexuther thought to himself.
"According to the researchers who analyzed this, the specimens aren't particularly aggressive or fast," Alexuther reported. "However, the Spencer organ is powerful, and the stinger's paralytic toxin is absolute. They have classified these bio-punk prototypes as Anemo-Scorpis Myrmex—in short, AS-MYRMEX 3.0."
"I see... the head of an anemone, the body of an ant, the stinger of a scorpion, with Spencers and chitinous legs," Cerceux muttered, still observing. "Is this new iteration venomous?"
"It carries a high anesthetic load, but the sting itself isn't immediately lethal—it feels like a mere mosquito bite," Alexuther said, suppressing a dry laugh. "However, experts observe that the puncture leaves a wound that turns a deep violet. Within a week, the victim suffers hemi-paralysis, high fever, and convulsions."
"So the symptoms are delayed? Does that provide a window for the religious healers of Cypriox to intervene?"
"The first wave of soldiers bitten in the initial lab raid returned to duty seemingly fine," Alexuther explained, his expression darkening. "But during preparations, men began collapsing without warning. The authorities are alarmed by this epidemic of sudden unconsciousness. It appears the Cyprioxian healing arts are ineffective at purging this... whatever it is. It defies traditional magic."
"Perhaps magic isn't the catalyst. Could this be a systemic pathogen carried by the AS-Myrmex?" Alexuther looked back at the document, squinting at the scientific jargon until he felt a headache coming on. "It mentions here... don't you find it strange how fast they reproduce?"
"At first glance, it looks like a simple cave, but this is a self-replication chamber," Cerceux noted. "According to this, their evolution has three phases. First, they emerge as white-skinned hatchlings, 0.3 meters long. Second, the exoskeleton hardens and darkens. By the third month, the final mutations trigger self-replication for breeding. It's a localized genetic loop—hermaphroditic processing."
"Could these be humans... or a lineage with shapeshifting abilities?" Cerceux asked, clicking his telescope to a 20x zoom.
"The reports insist they are purely experimental constructs," Alexuther replied.
"Just as I suspected... pests with shattered DNA structures, designed to sabotage the algorithm of celestial genes." Cerceux wiped his cheek with a white cloth and strode toward the command table. "In short, only a madman would conceive of this."
They sat within the headquarters' tent, perched on a high cliff near the Rigil border of Thallerion. On the table, the mountain wind danced through the edges of tactical maps weighted down by Cerceux's heavy, polished firearm. Red ink highlighted the routes and diversionary movements for the infantry.
Alexuther drew on a cigar, the tip glowing amber. Ash fell to the dirt as he approached the Prince. "The experts agree." He exhaled a cloud of smoke, clutching a crumpled document stained with flecks of black ichor. "From the recovered files, we've identified the mastermind. He uses a pen name: Dr. Ophiuchus."
"Dr. Ophiuchus?" Cerceux's brow furrowed. "What kind of doctor is he? We need to hunt him down." He clipped the telescope to his belt, his jaw tightening. "His experiments are a plague that must be cauterized."
"The labs we've breached suggest he is a collector of specimens—a grotesque hobby. When these creatures are backed into a corner, they function like remote-detonated bio-bombs. These are prototypes, Cerceux. Unstable, yet lethal."
"If these are just test subjects, the man is fueled by pure desperation." Cerceux tapped his fingers rhythmically against the wooden table. "There is only one recourse: we raze every laboratory he hides in."
He gripped the hilt of his sword, the metal clattering against his armor. He signaled a military defense messenger. "Relay the order: avoid the stingers and the mandibles at all costs. These experiments are volatile. Deploy long-range marksmen to immobilize them first." Cerceux signed the dispatch and pressed the Herzthroven seal onto the wax before handing it over. "Deliver this immediately."
"At once, My Prince. It shall reach the command leaders post-haste." The messenger sprinted toward the battalions.
Cerceux cracked his knuckles, a grim smile playing on his lips. "We shall grind those scorpions into dust. Let's see how the 'mad scientist' reacts to that."
"Does the name not strike you? 'Dr. Ophiuchus'..." Alexuther mused. "In legend, Ophiuchus is the Serpent Bearer, the 13th Zodiac. Why would he collect bones and perform such dissections?"
Silence fell over the table until Alexuther noticed a crumpled letter tucked aside. "I've noticed you've been writing a lot of missives lately... even amidst all this?" Alexuther stroked his neatly trimmed beard, his eyes twinkling. "Who is the recipient of this one? It seems... special." He sniffed the air, detecting the sweetness of perfume cutting through the acrid scent of his tobacco.
Cerceux's eyes widened. He snatched the letter away before Alexuther could touch it. "Keep your filthy, soot-stained hands away from my things. Don't let the smell of tobacco ruin it." Cerceux carefully wiped the parchment with his tunic.
"Ah... I know that look." Alexuther smirked, flicking ash. He leaned onto the table, encroaching on the Prince's space with a theatrical flourish. " 'O my beloved... you have captured my heart, I am your slave... I shall hunt the great Cetus just to bring you the pearls of the east—' "
"Enough of that! Your rhyming is atrocious and your timing is worse." Cerceux busied himself adjusting the red ribbon on the letter, ensuring the scent of the stationery remained untainted. The guards standing nearby struggled to maintain their stoic expressions, their shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter.
Cerceux glanced at the four guards—immovable pillars in magnificent plate armor clutching heavy steel shields. He beckoned one forward.
"Deliver this to Mintaka, the Healing Campus. Give it to Xurien—discreetly," Cerceux commanded. Alexuther watched the exchange with a knowing grin as the guard took the letter, the metal of his gauntlets clinking.
"Tell me, why do the High-ranking Cyprioxians refuse the aid of Thallerion's healers?" Alexuther asked, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. He watched the soldiers stationed at the wall, their eyes fixed on the AS-Myrmex, waiting for the signal of the white flags. "I have faith in our healers... and the paralysis among the troops is worsening."
"I find it suspicious as well," Cerceux gritted his teeth. "But we are bound by the decisions of the Cyprioxian leaders for now."
High atop the barricades at the Rigil border, the archers fell into formation. They notched arrows tipped with flickering pitch. "The long-range units are ready," Alexuther noted, checking his own glass.
"This is the third laboratory we burn," Prince Cerceux said, clearing the table to view the tactical map. He circled the cave entrance. "This hive is larger than the others. Once the first wave is immobilized, we breach the interior."
Alexuther nodded. "The usual protocol: destroy the tech and the arcane conduits fueling the mutation. These AS-Myrmex are disposable, designed for 'upgradable evolution.' Even if they are unstable, the pathogens they carry are a threat to the realm's health."
"The sensor teams reported heavy footsteps and labored breathing from deep within the tunnels. Could it be him? Dr. Ophiuchus?"
"If it is, all the better. We end this madness today." Cerceux's joints popped as he balled his fists. He stood up, his armor clanking, and the camp fell silent at his commanding presence. He picked up his warm steel firearm.
"Raise the white flags. Signal the rain of fire."
The guards waved the banners, the signal rippling down the line to the border.
"Let's move," Cerceux said. "We wait for the diversion, then we strike."
Alexuther followed, a final trail of smoke escaping his nostrils. "The Awakened-Hunters are waiting below."